Star Trek: For Empire and Dominion
by Grand Admiral Harmon
Summary: Set in a mirror universe. The Terran Empire is at war, conquering the Cardassian Union after they murder the Empress. However, as they fight their war, a threat across the galaxy prepares to invade the Alpha Quadrant.
1. Prologue

**Note:** This story was requested by Just a Crazy Man. This is set in a Mirror Universe, in which the Terran Empire never fell. The Empire did not go to war unless provoked, but, the Cardassian Union murdered the Empress, and her successor, her daughter, ordered the Union conquered. Meanwhile, Rear Admiral Sisko is not as concerned with the Cardassians as he is with what could be on the other side of the Bajoran Wormhole.

**Prologue**

Earth Calendar Year 2373.

Rear Admiral Sisko sat in his command chair, watching the bombardment of the Cardassian planet Yamak 7. This was among the last planets they'd have to subdue before moving on to Cardassia Prime itself. It was truly invigorating for him to watch the 7th and 8th Fleets as they punished this upstart race for their presumption. Did they really think they could get away with killing the Empress so easily?

Not that he had cared for the Empress. He had grown up in Louisiana and it hadn't been given nearly enough attention during her reign. And he doubted her daughter would be able to do much either.

Jadzia Dax stepped through the door to his office, and spotted the live footage of the battle. He glanced briefly over at her and was once again enraptured by her beauty. Captain Jadzia Dax wore a uniform that had a short shirt, and a black leather tanktop that barely covered her attributes. He did not underestimate her however. She was a fighter, and her eight lifetimes of experience made her a tough cookie.

"Are we winning?" she asked.

"Of course we are," Ben said, "Terrible shame this war though. If the Cardassians had just kept to themselves, we wouldn't have to conquer them now."

"We are the front-line defense of the Empire," she said, "The Imperial Planets have an obligation to defend the Empire."

"So what?" Sisko replied, "We don't need more wars at the moment. We need to keep an eye on the Gamma Quadrant."

"You and your wormhole," Dax shook her head, resting her hands on her hips, "I have no idea what you find so fascinating with it and the other side."

"I want to make sure we have as much information on the other side when the Empire decides to get off its fat lazy butt and make sorties into the Gamma Quadrant," Sisko reminded her, "As I have always said. That's why I moved this idiotic station near the wormhole. That and I hated the local populace thinking I was some sort of God figure. I'm simply a man."

"Yeah," she pursed her lips, "I know for a fact that you are only that."

Sisko watched as a Cardassian ship zoomed in out of Warp Speed and began to fire upon a surprised _Excelsior_. It took heavy damage but before it was destroyed a couple of the mean Korolev Heavy Raiders swooped in from above, blowing apart the ship in half and flying through the shattered middle, although one of the four hit their warp nacelles which caused it to spin out of control into the nearby moon.

"Ooooh!" Sisko clenched his fists and shaking them in excitement, "That was beautiful."

"Are we still on for tonight?" she asked, "Or am I going to have to find another date?"

"Come now," Sisko rolled his eyes, "Have I ever disappointed you by missing out on a date?"

"No," she shrugged, "But you seem interested in the battle more than anything else."

"Tell Quark not to burn the steak this time," he said, standing to his feet and walking around the table slide his hand and arm around her shoulders, "We're coming in."

* * *

The Founder rose from the goo and looked at the Vorta that stood on the small island in middle of the sea of changelings.

"Are our troops ready?" she demanded.

"Ready and waiting," he said.

"Then let us begin."


	2. Where Stars Meet

**Chapter 1: Where Stars Meet**

Fleet Admiral Jean-Luc Picard awoke from the fitful sleep he'd been having and looked up at the ceiling. The Tholians in an attempt to keep the Empire from going to war against them had offered some of their technology in hopes of buying off the Imperials. Picard had been the man in charge of the negotiations, and had remembered the ceiling throbbing and glowing with a soothing aroma which did much to clear away tensions and helping calm the mind. He had acquired that technology as part of the deal. That and the schematics to create a Tholian Web. Nasty business that.

It had helped with his insomnia for the most part. Back when he'd been attending the Academy his Aunt Adele had taught him how to make calomel tea to help him sleep. But he was beyond that point. He was a Starfleet officer. An admiral to be quiet frank. And that afforded him privileges.

But not tonight. Too much was on his mind. He sat up and got out of bed, trying not to wake his sleeping wife and moved towards the computer terminal and opened up the latest reports from Klingon space. The Klingon provinces were currently being run by Governor Gowron whom he had met on a couple of occasions. He still disliked how the man's eyes bulged out of his head.

The Klingon and Romulan provinces were nearly in arms over which side would get the most revenue over a certain trade route that ran along the borders of the two spaces. And naturally, Starfleet wanted their Klingon expert to take care of this problem. He had already drafted two compromises that would have benefitted both, but both times one of the parties had thwarted it. He was getting to the point that he was considering sending a couple warships to end the problem immediately.

He placed his hands on the Borg implants and scratched the edges. They always itched. It had been years since his encounter with the Borg, but there was still nasty repercussions. Perhaps marrying the wench was one of them.

"What are you doing up Jean-Luc?" his wife asked from their bed.

"Go to sleep Vash," he ordered, "I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"What are you-"

"Will you go to sleep?" he snapped, turning in his seat to glare at her. Stupid woman. He was her husband, and he better get the respect out of her he deserved.

He would still be at the terminal come morning.

* * *

"Captain," First Officer Commander Shelby said from her station, "Incoming message from Fleet Admiral Ross."

William T. Riker leaned forward in his seat, the eye implant still hurting after all these years. He had given up a lot for the Empire. When the Borg had made an incursion seven years ago when he was serving under then Captain Picard, he'd successfully fought off the Borg, saved Picard and they been able to destroy the Borg Cube during the Battle of Wolf 359. It had cost over a hundred ships, but the sheer firepower of the fleet had overwhelmed the Cube. But, they had boarded the Enterprise and his right eye had been slashed out by a drone. Commander La Forge had devised a means of incorporating a Borg eyepiece into his system, and he tinkered with it sense. Now he could see everything on the tactical screen as well.

"Put him onscreen," he ordered, and Ross came on, "What can we do for you, Admiral?"

"I am taking the _Titan_ off the front-lines and sending it back to DS9," Ross announced.

"We're only a few months out from hitting Cardassia Prime," Riker objected, "Are you really sure you want me not to be there?"

"You're crew has been in the past eight out of nine engagements," Ross reminded him, "And while they've performed admirably, I can't risk you becoming too battle fatigued. Go there and get some shore leave."

Riker clenched his fist. He knew what was really going on. Ross didn't want him here, where he could get all the glory. The news back home was gushing in praise at the good work the crew of the _Titan_ and it's daring captain had pulled off. Ross had no understanding of what this war was about. It wasn't about revenge. It was about obtaining glory enough to make a move for the Throne.

"Alright," he nodded, "_Titan_ out."

He stood up from his chair with fists still clenched and stepped off the bridge. "You have the bridge, Commander Shelby."


	3. Images and Apperances

**Chapter 2: Images and Appearances**

Captain Worf walked onto the Promenade, looking back and forth for Commander Kira Nerys who was supposed to be here. They had a mission they had to get underway, and he wasn't leaving until his first officer was found. He passed by Admiral Sisko who briefly nodded to him as he walked towards the local tailor. Although why he'd trust a Ferengi to do his tailoring was anyone's guess. Quark ran the bar and his brother Rom was a tailor. Both were simply trying to out-swindle the other.

He hoped he wouldn't find Kira where she usually was. But, as he made his way to the _Real Deal_, he saw Commander Kira there, and by the slumped way she sat at the bar, told of her current level of inebriation. Worf and Kira were both non-Terrans, which meant they looked out for each other. But, if she didn't shape up, she'd find that no matter how much Worf liked her, he wasn't going to be able to stop the consequences that would follow.

"Commander," he said, standing over her now. What smelled like real blood-wine rose from the tall metal flagon in front of her. "Don't tell me you are drunk. Again."

"You betcha," she said, playing with her long-Bajoran earring, "But I haven't drunk enough."

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"The isn't four barkeepers yet," she informed him, "He's only split in three."

The bartender rolled his eyes. He would have thrown her out a long time ago, but the last bartender had been beheaded by Kira, who always carried twin curved samurai swords strapped to her back. She never went anywhere without them, and some claimed when she had a romantic evening with suitors, she would take everything but the swords off.

"Three will have to do," Worf said, grabbing her as tightly as he dared her arm and brought her to her feet. He forced her to walk as much as she could.

"You can be a real boar," she grumbled as he pushed her along to the _Defiant_, "Why can't you let me have fun?"

"I respect you too much to allow you to jeopardize your career and life over foolish fancies," he growled in her ear, "You're lucky Sisko hasn't caught you drunk before. You know the penalty for such things is the Agony Booth."

"Awe..." she giggled, making several Bajoran monks look at her disgustedly, "You really do love me."

"Don't be ridiculous," he grunted, heading to the landing platforms. He kept his eyes glancing towards Sisko, who didn't look over at them.

"Drunk again?' Dax said, standing beside Sisko, his hand on her lower back.

"Yep," he nodded.

"Why haven't you punished her yet?" Dax asked, "You could you know. It'd be your right. And your responsibility."

"She's a good officer," he shrugged, "And her and Worf make a d-n good team. No need to turn them against us."

She didn't say anything but looked out at the space out there, in the direction of the wormhole. Her boyfriend knew what he was doing. He wouldn't have made it to Admiral otherwise. Sure, Emperor Spock had laid the foundations that turned the Empire from being tyrannical to more defense oriented and trying to be good to its members. But Starfleet had never totally changed its ways and were still a place where only the fittest survived, let alone made it on top.

"So," she already knew the answer, "Where are they off too?"

"The Gamma Quadrant," he replied.

"What for this time?" she asked, annoyed by the so unoriginality of the destination.

"Same old, same old," he said.

Dax sighed and pressed her head against his shoulder. "I'll never understand you're fascination with the other side," she muttered.

"That's why I'm the Admiral," he said with a lustful growl, "And you're an Admiral's woman. Even if you are a Captain. Your training is for pleasure. Not for command decisions."

"Perhaps," she muttered.

* * *

The complete uncontrolled passion. The fiery desires. The wetness of the sweat. All these appealed to Riker as he and Deanna Troi let their passions rule the couple hours between the Cardassian front and Deep Space Nine. But, as it always did, it had to end somewhere.

"You never cease to amaze me," Deanna said, blanket wrapped around her.

"That's why I'm the Captain," he growled, "And you're the Captain's woman. You are meant to be amazed by what I can do."

Deanna shook her head. "I think it's the other way around," she laughed.

Will smiled ruefully. "Maybe," he conceded.

They stared at each other passionately. They had met when he had taken over as Captain of the _Titan_ after the Borg Incident. And the five or so years they'd become much more than just casual partners. They'd become devote lovers to each other.

"I can't wait for us to be married," she said, "It's be far too long-"

Will shuddered. He had been hoping to avoid this conversation. "Listen, Deanna. I love you, you know that better than anyone," he said, "But, it's just not possible."

"But..." she frowned, "Our plans...our future together."

"Dreams," he said, hating every word, "A beautiful dream. But our positions. It would create a scandal. It would be just the weapon they'd need to destroy me."

"Who cares what _they_ think?" she exclaimed, "This is _us_ we are talking about. Captains have married Captain's women before."

"But none of them advanced beyond the Captaincy," Riker pointed out, "I am aiming for the Throne. When that happens, maybe. But...not now."

"We could keep it secret," she said in a desperate grab at hope.

"We'd be living a lie," he said with a sigh, "And you are worth more than that."

"Oh!" she snapped, rolling out of bed and grabbing her clothes, "I'm too important to be a secret, but not important enough to be public! I can't do this Will! You either have to marry me or I will need to transfer to another ship. One where the Captain will appreciate my talents."

"You're transfer orders are already approved," he said and she stopped, "Captain Worf has said he'd be more than willing to use your talents."

She looked at him, a mixture of betrayed, sadness and rage combined into a heart breaking crescendo. She didn't even say good bye as she slipped into the clothes and stormed out, leaving Will by himself.


	4. A Good Day to Die

**Chapter 3: A Good Day to Die**

Worf laid back in his bunk, wishing for yet the hundredth time this trip he was alone on the ship. If he was, there wouldn't be so many people running around. But, to top it off, he could play Klingon opera as loud as he could. Klingon opera was not meant to be played as quietly as he had it now. As with all things Klingon, it was meant to be loud and boisterous.

But, sacrifices and compromises...

He looked at the records of the Captain's woman he'd be getting when he got back to DS9. The ISS _Titan_'s captain had forwarded the transfer request to him. The only reason behind it was "personal preferences". Worf was always going through his Captain's woman about once a month, and he was currently in need of number sixteen. Not many women could handle him, and no Klingon woman would degrade herself to be the Captain's woman.

"Bridge to Captain Worf," Commander Kira's voice came through the speaker. At least she was sober.

"What?" he demanded.

"We have detected a good number of ships coming our direction from multiple vectors," she replied, "Would you like us to engage our cloak?"

Worf sighed and sat up slowly, making sure to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling over the bunk. Decisions, decisions.

"Not yet," he said, "I'm coming up."

"Bridge out."

* * *

"One Imperial star ship on our radars," Weyoun reported, looking through the viewing piece on his headset, "Would you like us to bypass it?"

"What ship is it?" the Founder asked, standing behind him, between two massive Jem'Hadar warriors.

"It's identified as the ISS _Defiant_," Weyoun read the information that appeared by the ship, "Commanded by a Captain Worf. The ship is a class D-Warship."

"Do not bypass it," the Founder said, not hesitating as she gave the order, "Intercept it. I want it jammed so it can't report back and I want prisoners."

Weyoun bit his lower lip. "Forgive me Founder," he lowered his head, "But why capture them? It'll be easier to just destroy them."

The Founder closed her eyes in the manner of a parent with a child who did not understand the complexities of simple chores. "Easier yes," she replied, "But we need live specimens for the Prison Asteroid of Dilm-oron to study. Find out their physical weaknesses. The bare minimal for their survival needs. And besides, why not use that ship to put our troops on it and attack that space station...what is it called? Deep Space Nine?"

Weyoun lit up his face, smiling. "Of course," he said in awe, "The Founder is wise."

She rolled her eyes. "That's why I am the God and you are the servant."

* * *

"How far are they?" Worf asked, stepping onto the bridge.

"A million kilometers and closing rapidly," Commander Kira said, standing from the command chair and stepping aside as Worf sat in it, "We haven't hailed them."

"Are they in visual range?" he asked.

"They just passed into range sir," one of the officers reported from his station.

"On screen and magnify," he ordered, and watched as the screen turned on then zoomed in.

Ships that looked like Earth beetles were flying in massed formation, heading towards them. There was so many even at a glance he knew there was many thousands even in the small section he could see. Even in another part of the Universe, he could tell formation when he saw it.

There were many things that had been taken away from the Klingons when they had been conquered by the Empire during the Klingon Conquests. The ancient scrolls that spoke of Kahless had been burned, except those that had been hid. Klingon artists had been murdered to a man. Klingon school had been destroyed and the law torn to shreds.

But, they could not take away the warrior's heart. That instinct that drove each warrior. The ones that said stand and fight; good and bad. The humans called it a gut feeling.

"Engage the cloak," he ordered, "And run at Grey Mode."

"Aye sir," the officer at engineering said, "Cloak raised. Grey Mode engaged."

The whole ship turned dark, with only soft blue light illuminating the bridge and ship. And Worf leaned forward in his seat and taking a deep breath waited for them to come and pass by.

* * *

"They've disappeared," The First on the bridge said, his eyes running the scanners.

"Compensating to scan for neutrino emissions," the Second called out, "Try now, First."

"I can see the faint outline of a ship," the First said, "What are your orders, Vorta?"

"Proceed on a casual heading," Weyoun ordered, "Then as we are passing overhead, send orders to Attack Ships 501st and 107th to send boarding parties of thirty each into the location of the _Defiant_."

* * *

Worf sat forward, his warriors heart pounding in his chest like a drum from the glorious days of old. These ships would pass them by. The _Defiant_'s cloaking technology had never been beaten before. It would not start now, not if he had anything to say on the matter.

The ships were closing, and despite the cloak, everyone kept silent, as if a single sound would alert the enemy. They were now so close they could tell how large these ships were. They were comparable to the size of the _Defiant_, Who knew how many could be crewing those ships. Their purple hulls seemed to glow in the dark.

Now was the moment. They were right on top of them. He clenched his hand and he could feel Commander Kira's wringing her hands. Sweat from Terrans could be smelt as fear built up in them. But, they came and went, passing by the cloaked _Defiant_. But, while there was a strange relief passing over them, Worf could not help but feel they had been compromised.

"Drop cloak and get us out of here!" he ordered, his voice making everyone start.

"Sir?" the engineering officer said, looking back at him.

"We don't move now we're dead!" Worf said, "Now get us out of here!"

"Aye sir," the officer said, the bridge returning to normal lighting, "Setting Warp 9 for the wormhole. Raising shields."

Just then, a voice cried out, "Engineering to Security! We've got intruder on boar-" the channel cut off.

"Battle stations!" Worf shouted, as suddenly a group transported on the bridge, sharp horns on top of their heads, their skins a hard grey.

Worf grabbed the handle of the mek'leth knife and drew it, and could hear the twin curved swords of Kira being drawn from their sheaths.

"Today is a good day to die," Worf growled.


	5. Queen of the Empire

**Chapter 4: Queen of the Empire**

Mallor laid on the soft bed, sliding her elegant fingers up and down the middle of the long, thin bladed dagger she always kept with her at all times. She had never wanted to be Empress. She would have been perfectly fine remaining in the Special Forces, where she had gained the rank of Lieutenant. Not by virtue of her relationship with the old Empress, but by her skills and achievements.

She had been forced to give up much of what she wanted when she had gone to Earth to reign as the new Queen of the Empire, the Imperial Palace overlooking the old city of Rome. Blood had been spilt on, for and over the city that Terrans called "the Eternal City". It had lasted for thousands of years, one of the oldest of Terra Prime. But, she found no comfort in the fact of her ascension to the purple.

Her instructors in Special Forces had told her, 'Rank is the means by which you are valued as a target.' Well, Empress of the Terran Empire was a pretty lofty position. She had given up more than that. She had also given up he that had her heart.

"Your Highness?" a voice seemed to boom from the commchannel installed on the Andorian Ice Table that sat by the side of her bed, "Admiral-in-Chief Jellico would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

She looked up at the canvas top of her bed, the purple and red silk seeming to play tricks to the optical senses. Jellico was a foolish old man that had really outlived his usefulness in her eyes. But, she could not just remove him. Too much would have to be worked out.

"Tell him I'm dead," she called back, draping a long slender arm over her eyes.

"Empress?" her secretary asked confused.

Trust Vulcans to not have a sense of humor. "Tell him I'll met him in twenty minutes," she said, pounding her mattress in an attempt to get her ready to roll out of bed. "Head towards my office and await me there."

"Yes, Highness," the commchannel closed.

"Oh," she sighed, "What I wouldn't give to slide my knife across his throat."

* * *

Twenty minutes later she was walking into her office. Guards walked behind her, but they could not be seen except a small ruffling around them. The Imperial Guard had recently been given uniforms that were laced with the essence of a creature on a planet that could make itself invisible. Commander La Forge had nearly been turned into one of them and had been given permission to hunt them down indiscriminately and discover their secrets.

The result of nearly two years of hard work stood behind her, silent.

Admiral-in-Chief Jellico stood off to the side, his hands twitching as she swept around her desk and sat down, laying hands on the table. Jellico also had guards, two men with red armor and black visors with Samurai swords strapped to their backs. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to catch the edges of the guards that would allow him to spot them.

"Sit," she said, motioning for the chair opposite her.

Cautiously he sat down, settling into the seat. His eyes still tried to find the guards and she was pleased. It was nice to see the old man squirm.

"Now why have you come and interrupted my slumber?" she asked slowly.

"I thought you'd like to know that three peace envoys have shown up from the Cardassian Union," he said, with a grim smile, it making the scar that ran across his right cheek twist, "They must be getting desperate."

"Have you opened a dialogue with them?" she asked, leaning forward while pressing the tips of her fingers together.

Jellico snorted. "Of course not," he shook his head, "They deserve their fate."

"You know I have always wanted a peaceful solution to ending this war," Mallor's eyebrow knitted together, "And you are telling me you won't open a dialogue to them?"

"Our Empire has never negotiated!" Jellico proclaimed vainly, "We conquer."

"Those are the old ways," Mallor retorted, "Not mine."

Jellico rolled his eyes. "You Talokians have always been too peace-loving for my tastes," he said, "If only I had been born before Emperor Spock. Those were good days."

"Perhaps," she said, standing up, "But I will not have this. I want this war to end. We need to be focused on what the Empire is about."

"And what is that?" Jellico asked mockingly, "Basket-weavers and toilet scrubbers? No, I am a man of war. We must expand our borders if we are to survive."

Mallor looked out across the city from the window. Roughly three million Terrans lived there and maybe seventeen thousand off-worlders. The Terrans did not run the show. She did.

"I am going to Bajor," she announced.

"What for?" Jellico asked suspiciously.

"If you will not see to peace," she said, "I will."

"I must protest this, Empress!" Jellico said, raising to his feet, "That's dreadfully close to the warzone. We cannot afford your death."

"I will have the Royal Guard Squadron accompany me," she said, "And if they cannot protect me, who can?"


	6. Trojan Horse

**Chapter 5: Trojan Horse**

Captain Riker stepped off onto DS9 and spotting Rear Admiral Sisko on a walkway hurried to catch up to him. He entered a small lift which took him up and it hadn't quiet yet stopped when he stepped off and headed towards Sisko. He stepped up and saluted the Admiral who returned the salute.

"Captain Riker," Sisko nodded, "How goes the war?"

"Be better if Admiral Ross had let us stay there and fight," Riker grunted, "But, we are making headway."

"Good to hear," Sisko said, putting a hand on the Captain's shoulder and moving towards the lift, "So, Captain, what brings you to my station?"

"My orders were to come here for R&R," he informed him, "If that is fine with you."

"Of course," he smiled, "Always good to have Starfleet officers here. Will you join me in Ops? That's where the action is around here."

"Certainly sir," he stepped into the lift, placing his hands behind his back. The lift began to rise, "I did not see the Defiant here."

"Captain Worf is heading a recon mission in the Gamma Quadrant," Sisko rubbed the side of his face with his wrist, "Should be back anytime now."

"Good," Riker remarked, "I have a crewman who is transferring over to the ship."

"Huh," Sisko muttered, "Didn't realize Worf needed another crewman. Oh well."

The lift stopped and they exited into the operations center. Doctor Bashir was up here with Miles O'Brien, although why the doctor was here was anyone's guess.

"Make yourself at home, Captain," he said, "I'll be in my office."

"Ahhh..." Bashir said, jumping to his feet and walking over, his leg limping, "My name is Doctor Bashir. Julian Bashir."

"What are you doing in Ops?" he asked, "And what's wrong with your leg?"

"Artificial," he said, slapping the leg jovially, "Lost it during a fight with a Bajoran who poisoned it with a knife. As for why I'm up here, I'm just making sure that Chief O'Brien's artificial eye is working."

"As if," O'Brien snorted from his station, turning to him, the artificial eye looking like a small metal ball in his eye-socket, "He's just here to check out the...ops crew as it were."

"Playboy, huh?" Riker winked.

"Could say so, sir," he replied, "I've been trying to make a move on the Captain, but Captain Dax seems to prefer the Admiral to doctors."

"I didn't realize they had a thing," Riker frowned, "Is that not against the regulations or something?"

"When has regulations ever stopped a Terran from taking what he wanted?" a man who seemed not quiet exactly human stepped up, "That's one thing I like about Terrans. They don't care what people think. Heck, the Empress herself could have a flagarant affair and the Empire would just accept it. None of this secretive chrap."

"Constable Odo, I presume," Riker held out a hand.

"I run security here," he said, "Or so they keep telling me."

Riker really was getting to like this group. Maybe _he_ should be the one transferring commands.

"Enough with the chatter," a sharp voice spoke out, and the group broke up, none of them wanting to have to personally meet the Captain at the moment, "Captain Riker? Please remove your presence, your disrupting my command."

"Captain Dax?" Riker turned to her as she walked from her station, "I was offered to be here by Admiral Sisko."

"He might think he runs this station," she raised an eyebrow, "But _I_ am in charge. So either be quiet or leave my ops center."

"Yes, Boss Lady," he said and moved back out of the way.

"Captain," a Bajoran said, looking up from her station, "We've got the _Defiant_ coming through the wormhole. And she being closely followed by a sizable force."

"A force?" Dax wheeled herself around and marched over to her, "An ID on these guys?"

"None whatsoever," she replied.

"I'll return to my ship just in case," Riker said, and left Ops.

* * *

Sisko stepped out into Ops, looking at the screen as the _Defiant_ flew out of the wormhole.

"What's up?" he barked.

"The _Defiant_ was being pursued by a couple hundred ships at least of unknown origin and design," the operations officer replied, "But they halted just inside the wormhole mouth."

Sisko frowned. Why did they stop? And why hadn't the early warning beacons on the other side alerted them. When he posed that question to Dax, she shrugged. There simply wasn't a good enough answer.

"I want the self-replicating minefield activated," he ordered, "And I want the station to go to battle stations."

"The _Defiant_'s weapons are powering up," the tactical officer reported.

"Good," Sisko smiled, "Then they'll be able too..."

"Sir," the Androian interrupted, a little confused, "They are targeting the docking pylons."

"What?" Dax demanded, "What are you talking about?"

The station shook as the _Defiant_ opened fire on the docking pylons, damaging and destroying docked ships and preventing anyone from escape. Yellow explosions ruptured from outside, and they could see pieces of ships and hull tearing away.

"What the h-l is going on?" Sisko shouted, "Open a commchannel to the _Defiant_!"

Ops shook as shots hit near there, sparks flying all over the place. "Communications are down," the officer reported, "So are weapons!"

And then the wormhole opened and ships began pouring out and flying towards the station. Sisko looked up at the screen and for once he felt the end was near.

"Chief!' he said quietly, eruptions shaking the station, "Get power back up!"

* * *

Riker stumbled onto the bridge, the whole ship trembling as explosions from the station vibrated through to the _Titan_. It had been lucky, having been missed by the Defiant. But the _Hammerhead_ and the _Above and Beyond_, who had also been docked had been badly damaged and were most likely not going to escape.

"Report!" he shouted, and the engineering officer reported, "We are still stuck to the umbilical cords. We can't get out."

"Helm!" Riker shouted, Commander Shelby moving out of his chair. "Full reverse impulse. Let's see if that will do anything."

"But sir!" his First Officer cried out, "If we do that well lose the outer hull of the forward saucer section!"

"Better that then be stuck here and destroyed!" Riker snapped, "Full reverse, Mr. Crusher!"

"Aye sir," Ensign Wesley Crusher said and with a push of the button the ship bucked and thrashed about, the cords trying to keep them tight. The engines began to whine and the Engineering Chief called out across the comm, "We better stop or we'll lose the engines!"

"Almost there!" Crusher reported and as soon as he said that, the ship bolted backward, the force causing the ship to tumble end over end backwards. The crew tumbled across the bridge and everywhere across the ship, and few being tossed several decks to the ground as they tumbled.

"Straighten us out," Riker bellowed, "Or I'll have you drawn and quartered, Wesley!"

"Firing dorsal thrusters," he reported and the ships tumbling began to slow, "Turning ship 180 degrees."

"Prepare to fire phasers," Riker ordered, his head spinning, "And get us back into the fight."

"Sir," the Security Chief reported, "There's over 400 enemy ships now in the Bajoran system and more pouring in. We cannot fight them. The breaking away cost us our forward phaser banks. We need reinforcements."

Riker looked around at his crew and saw that they were in no shape to fight. Most of the bridge crew had been knocked out by the tumbling, including Commander Shelby. Sparks were flying everywhere. Cursing out loud he turned his gaze to Welsey.

"Take us to Belgaron VI," he ordered, "And send a priority-one transmission to Starfleet Command informing them we are under invasion."


	7. Admiral and Queen

**Chapter 6: Admiral and Queen**

Picard walked onto the bridge of the ISS _Enterprise_, nodding to his first officer, Captain Tasha Yar. She was a fine and accomplished officer who had served onboard the _Enterprise_ since it was commissioned nearly a decade ago. She was the type of officer he liked; fair when she was able to, tyrannical if the need arose and brutal in a fight. She had helped Riker during first contact with the Ferengi and had sent the Ferengi into a panic at the damage she could do personally to those who tried to attack her.

"The Empress is heading to Bajor," he called out across the bridge, his implants itching again, "So we will go ahead of her and be there just in case. It is after all near the Cardassian warfront. Helm, set a course for Bajor."

"Aye, aye sir," the Bajoran Ro Laren replied from her helm, "Setting course for Bajor."

Tasha stood from the Captain's chair and moved over as he took a seat. He wasn't going to stand through the entire trip, that was for sure! Tasha looked over at him and asked, "Sir? Won't the Royal Guard be enough for her?"

"No," he said, "The Enterprise will be there."

"What about the Klingons and Romulans?" she asked.

"To h-l with them!" he snapped, making her frown. She was one person he very rarely lost his temper with. He had once seduced the Mother Empress when they were younger. And he would not let his daughter go there alone.

"Warp 7," he said, lifting an open palm, "Engage."

* * *

Ten Forward was the place to relax during long missions. And Picard took the time to relax. He especially liked being able to talk to Guinan, who acted as councilor. Councilor, friend and guide. He wasn't even sure what their relationship truly was.

"It's about time you got down here," she teased, handing him a cup of Earl Grey, "I was getting kind of lonely."

"I had business," he shrugged.

"What kind of business?" she asked.

"Important business," he replied.

"What kind of important business?' she pressed.

He rolled his eyes. "The kind that's important," he said.

Guinan chuckled. "I always like that type of business," she noted.

"I wouldn't believe it if you didn't," Picard snorted, "So, what sage advice do you have for me this time?"

"You remember the first time we met?" she asked, sliding her hands across the glasstop.

"Of course I do," he smiled, "Your shuttle had crash-landed on Risa's third moon and I came to your rescue and helped you out."

"No," she chuckled, "We first met back in the 19th Century. You were on a mission to find Commander Data who had gone back in time to the then United States of America in an attempt to bring democracy to our time. In the other universe, you went back in time to save Data and saved me. Well, you bumped into me during that mission and the memory from the other universe leaked into ours."

Picard's eyes widened. "Yes...of course!" he said, slapping the table, "I knew something was familiar about the woman I saw on the mission."

Guinan frowned slightly, throwing her whole being into a reclusive darkness. It wasn't just a contemplative glance. No, it was a truly troubled look. Picard reached out his hand and touched her own gently.

"Guinan?" he asked.

She shivered. "I have the ability to see ripples in space and time," she said, "And I have a great sense that this ripple is going to be cut soon."

"'This' ripple?" he asked, not sure what she meant.

"Us," she said, "This whole ship. Even what we perceive as the Empire will end soon."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Not sure if I like that," he muttered.

"Captain Yar to Admiral Picard," his com chirped.

"Go ahead," he said.

"We are getting a Priority Violet signal from Starfleet Command," she reported.

Priority Violet? Invasion? He looked at Guinan, and the resigned look on her face showed him all he needed to know.

"What are the coordinates?" he asked.

"Sector 512," she said, "The Bajoran System."

"Alert General Quarters," he said, and stood up, and with a small nod passed between him and Guinan, he marched towards the bridge.

* * *

Empress Mallor sat on the throne on _Imperial One_. It was made of pure titanium and chiseled in such a way that it reflected with absolute precision every detail around her. It had a personalized heating system installed to always keep her comfortable. Helped keep her dignified, if a little sleepy.

He was going to be there. Her true love, Lt. Tom Eugene Paris. He was the current head of Starfleet _Maquis_ Division, a group of Special Ops that was aimed towards destabilizing key regions every couple of years to keep them off balance. She had met him when Special Forces and Special Ops had done a combined mission assassinating the Gorn Emperor, Nakrog, to prevent his threats of war against the Empire. Only her and Paris had survived the mission. She always had a weakness for human males, but if all worked out, she planned to announce her betrothal to him by the end of the year.

"Empress," the Captain, an android by the name of Royal Captain Lore Soong called from his station at the back of the bridge, "Admiral Jellico has issued a Priority Violet Signal across the Empire."

"Location of the invasion?" she asked.

"Bajoran system," he reported, "Seems the other side of the wormhole was not as empty as we thought. Empress, if I may suggest, we must pull back for your own safety.

She felt a cold clamp around her stomach of fear. Paris would be in the region, and so would so many others. She went to bring peace. Why all of a sudden this invasion? Was the Gods of her people mocking her for taking the purple? If she turned back...it would not be any good.

"No," she decided, "We go to Bajor."

"But Empress," Lore said in contempt, "We cannot risk your safety."

"I am Empress!" she snapped, "I go to bring the sword to our enemies. A strong show of force against this foe will be enough to turn them aside. Order the Imperial Ninth Fleet to join us at Bajor. I want the _Angry Angels_ to be in the lead of the war-effort."

"Yes, Your Majesty," he bowed his head, anger filling his android eyes. Even he, with his artificial speed, would not go against her personal guard, standing camouflaged in many different parts of the bridge, although he could see them all.


	8. Not Entirely a Human Trait

**Chapter 7: Not Entirely A Human Trait**

Deep Space Nine was overrun by Jem'Hadar warriors, killing most of the crew that had escaped the initial pounding of the station. They moved throughout the station, and they were more meticulous in their actions than a vole cleaning crew. Benjamin Sisko was collapsed on the floor, Ops a ruined mess. Blood gushed forth from a gash across his head, but as the soft finger pressed to his pulse, she could tell he was alive.

There is a reason why officers should never get involved, especially when they serve under the same command. For reasons of avoiding awkward looks from the crew who had to get used to it. But also times like this. Jadzia Dax had served in the military once before, but as a man, and had never loved anyone as much as she did Benjamin Sisko. In many ways, she wondered if she'd had these feelings for him when they were both guys when she had been Chirzon Dax.

But, at the sight of him on the floor, bleeding out, she mentally shut down. Chief O'Brien was trying to rouse her by shouting at her, but she simply curled up around Ben, hugging him tightly in defensive shock.

"Bullocks!" O'Brien shouted, "She's gone." And he looked around at the few surviving Ops crew, them all looking both expectantly and scared. Looking at _him_.

"What do we do Chief?' one of the Ensigns asked, a Bajoran, "What do we do?"

"Well," he said, slowly, scratching his head, "They aren't taking this station, that's for blood sure."

"You want to self destruct the station?" the crewman looked with bulging eyes in fright, "Are you...you...serious?"

"What do you think will happen if we don't?" O'Brien demanded, "Now, let's do it! Computer...begin auto-destruct sequence."

"Autodestruct is offline," the computer reported in its deadpan way.

And at the same time five Jem'Hadar appeared in Ops. And blasted away everyone in rapid succession except for O'Brien. He stood there, raising his hands slowly.

"If that is supposed to mean you are surrendering," a massive one with a scar running down his cheek, "I'll accept. Who are those two?"

"They're Rear Admiral Sisko and Captain Dax," he said slowly, knowing that lying would get him nowhere.

"Good," he smiled viciously, "Then I won't have to kill them either, Chief Miles O'Brien."

* * *

"_Deep Space Nine_ has fallen to us," Weyoun replied with a smile, "Shall I order the attack on Bajor itself to commence?"

The Founder looked out upon the expanse of space that lay before her. It was a sight to behold. A whole other quadrant, hers for the taking. She felt as if she could lift her hand and pluck the stars themselves out of heaven and squeeze the life out of them.

"Yes," she said, "Commence the attack."

* * *

General Martok stepped up to the command center of his defenses of Bajor, looking at the Terran, Romulan, Bajoran and Klingon crew that made up those who would fight and die here, under his watchful eye.

He'd grown up his entire life in the rule of the Terran Empire, and as such had learned much about Earth's military history. The Terran Empire was what once was simply the Roman Empire, having transformed as time had gone by. One their greatest threats had been the Huns, a branch of the Mongol Empire, and they had been subdued after nearly two hundred years. But, the one thing they had adapted from the Mongols was their willingness to incorporate weapons and tactics that the Mongols found were successful against them. For that reason alone he could feel the weight of his mighty bat'leth on his back.

There had been confusing reports, most of which he had dismissed. Some talked off the station near the wormhole under attack. But, seeing as "the Emissary" as these backwater Bajorans kept calling him had made no communications had been sent forth from the station, he had dismissed them. In fact, it wasn't until a massive wave of strange craft was only twenty minutes out before Martok would believe there was anything not status quo.

And even then he walked with measured calm strides, barking at anyone who was hurrying about. Probably just Imperial ships coming back home.

"Powering up the shields and activating the defenses," his Tactical officer reported, "Should be fully operational in three minutes."

"Who gave that order?" he demanded, turning towards him, glaring with his fiery eyes.

The Tactical officer frowned, "Seeings as we've had no contact with DS9 in about two hours and we've received reports of fighting out there, and those aren't Imperial vessels, I thought it be prudent..."

"petaQ!" Martok shouted and slapped him hard across the face and sending him sprawling, "Only I say what is prudent and what is not! Now lower those shields and power down those weapons. You will not raise them until I give the order."

And so the Tactical officer stood up and glared at him. "No, sir," he said, "I won't risk the lives of everyone in this-"

Martok spun around, grabbing his bat'leth and swinging in the same motion. The Terran's head went flying across the room. He stamped over the the other side of the console and dropped the shields and turned the weapons offline.

"They don't raise until I order it!" he shouted.


	9. Sacrifice of Angels

**Chapter 8: Sacrifice of Angels**

Captain Kathryn Janeway let out a satisfied sigh, trying to catch her breath. Above her was Seven-of-Nine, a satisfied smile across her face. Her beautiful body was made all the more appealing by the sweat that glistened off it.

"Did I not tell you resistance is futile?" Seven-of-Nine whispered, kissing her again on the lips.

"This is one time I don't mind adapting to service the Borg," Kathryn giggled like a school-girl in love for the first time, "But, too bad about my fiancé. Mark is a good lover, but he never quiet understood my needs the way you do."

"I can arrange it so you never have to go back to him," Seven suggested with a growl, "And I can explore your perfection all the time."

Janeway smiled, "I think I like the sound of that," she agreed.

Seven caressed Janeway's cheek and said, tears filling her eyes, "I had always searched for perfection. I never thought I'd find it...until I met you."

This romantic scene was interrupted by a beeping from her commpanel. She looked loving into the eyes of the woman who had become the most important aspect of her life. She had thought she was straight. And then she had met Seven-of-Nine. Even as a Borg that she had captured, she knew she wanted her. And now, here they were, experiencing true love the first time.

"Duty calls," she muttered, reaching over and tapping the comm-button on the nightstand, "What is it?"

"Captain Janeway," her first officer, Lt. Commander Aaron Cavit said, "Sorry to disturb you."

"Oh, it's alright," she said, "I was just exercising. Strenuously. Would you like to join me?" That made Seven grin.

"Maybe later," he laughed, but turning serious said, "But we've been ordered by Admiral Picard to report to the Azure Nebula. We'll be going there to keep an eye on enemy activity."

"Oh yes," Janeway said, the cool air finally making its way to her sweat covered body, "That silly thing about an invasion."

"I guess so," he said, his voice betraying how much of a joke he thought the rumors were.

"Alright," she said, "Set course for the Azure Nebula. I'll be-" Seven began nibbling on her ear and after a brief pause and suppressing a shudder of excitement said, "be up there in an hour. I'm going to do some abdominal workout."

"Righto, Madam Captain," he said, knowing how much she was annoyed when he called her that, "Bridge out."

"Again?" she asked, feeling Seven's hands beginning to slide across her body, "Already?"

"Always," the liberated Borg growled.

"I can agree with that," Janeway said, and gave into her passions again.

* * *

Martok felt the building shake. Explosion after explosion tore into the command center, each blow bringing more devastation and death. He walked as a man who couldn't comprehend what was going on. He felt outside of time, watching everything with a detached glance.

How had it come to this? How had his pride blinded him so? Where had his arrogance crept in to the point that not only did he not listen to those around him, but thought himself invincible?

People, soldiers of the Empire were fleeing. Running every direction. Many were curled up in a ball on the floor, screaming in terror at the destruction. But, as he pulled the ritualistic dagger and slowly raised it high, he hoped that Grethor would punish him fitting his crimes.

* * *

"Picard to fleet," Picard said over the fleet channel, "Reports from the _Titan_ indicates they engaged the enemy and they report the enemy is in the hundreds. We've got roughly eight thousand ships here, and I want us to hit them hard. I want us to go in by waves of ten so pretty much each squadron. They are to attack different part of the enemy line. I am sending randomized locations to each group of ten. Once you've engaged, work on breaking through and linking up with the forces on Bajor. Groups one and two will head towards Deep Space Nine. Groups three and four will hit the planet. Groups five and six will drive through the middle and keep them separated. Picard out."

He saw Tasha as she sent out eight hundred randomized group numberings to the squadron. She was a striking woman to be sure. No wonder that young man from _Enterprise-C_ had taken such an interest when his ship had emerged in their time. If he had been younger, he would have made a move. But no, he was married to a mindless woman with no understanding of anything.

"We are coming up to Bajor in twenty seconds," helm reported.

Picard leaned forward. The time was upon them. A great battle with invaders. "Take us out of warp," he ordered and soon they were dropping out of warp. Into a sky filled with demons and fire.

* * *

Hundred of ships had dropped out of warpspeed, only to be hit by iron hard defenses. Ship after ship were torn apart by the invaders that were continuing to pour through the wormhole and adding their firepower to the fleet. It wasn't until the _Enterprise_ entered the space before the Imperial forces even had a chance of even firing back.

"We've lost both warp nacelles," Commander La Forge called up to the bridge, the ship filling with poisonous vapors as conduits responsible for scrubbing the air ruptured, "And shields are offline."

About a dozen ships had finally entered the fight, and Picard could see out of the viewscreen the crisscrossing of plasma and phaser weapons. Smoke filled bridge, and most of the bridge crew were dead. Tasha was dead as well, her neck veins ruptured and a jagged gash across her neck having killed her. Only the Tactical officer and Helm were alive besides him.

How odd it was for Picard. He imagined his last battle would have been him riding through the ranks of his enemies, smiting and driving them before him. Not with Imperial One burning in space, spiraling slowly through the enemy ranks.

His daughter was going to die. His crew was going to die. His fleet was going to die. The Empire was going to die. Everywhere he looked, Imperial ships were being destroyed and their remains scattered across the field of battle. Many new ships coming out of warp smashed into the broken hulls of comrade ships and died with a fiery blaze.

The Borg had a saying. One that he had never believed. But one that as he looked out and saw a massive enemy ship bearing down on them, he understood.

"Resistance is futile."

"They are going to ram us!" the Tactical officer shouted, sparks flying from a shattered console.

"With my last breath I curse thee," Picard quoted, closing his eyes to shield his mind from the death, "From Hell's depth I spit at the-"

The _Enterprise_ exploded on the altar of defeat.

* * *

Weyoun practically beamed as he saw the Imperial Forces being butchered. This was not a glorious battle, but the most single-handed victory the Dominion had ever achieved in its long history. Oh yes, losses were starting to climb on the Dominion's side, but it was nothing compared to Starfleet. For every single Jem'Hadar ship that perished, ten Imperial starships were destroyed. Wasn't this just glorious to behold?

"Let them come," the Founder said, watching the bloodbath unfold, "Let them bleed themselves dry."

* * *

They called her the _Angriest Angel_. And right now, she was very angry.

Captain Alayna Nechayev sat on the bridge of the Korelev Heavy Raider _The Angry Angel_ and she looked at her five flanking Heavy Raiders. These all weapons and no safety ships were ready to go into action. And she knew right where to go.

"We are going in," she ordered, "_Imperial One_ is going down and the Empress is in danger. I want _Wild Cards_, _Chigs _and _Saratoga_ to form the tip of a triangle, with the rest forming the base. We are going right into the eye of the storm."

The ships lurched forward and they ran forward at full impulse. The Dominion ships were tagging them and soon the space was becoming filled with crisscrossing plasma beams. But, they pressed onwards, and firing a furious hail of fire punched a hole through the Dominion lines, but even as they emerged on the other side, the Dominion was flanking them and hammering _Imperial One_ and them equally hard.

One of the ships, the _Ross Boss_ suddenly went out of control as they lost engines and it went screaming into a Jem"Hadar ship that when trying to dodge another ship flew right in its path. _The Angriest Angel_ shuddered as it took three simultaneous hit. But Nechayev rode it like she was walking in a rain storm.

"Execute Pattern Retrieval," she barked and the squad banked a hard left and swinging around the spiraling Imperial One locked on with tractor beams and pulled it along, the hull of Imperial One clipping a stationary enemy ship as it was concentrating on destroying an _Akira_-Class ship that was on a collision course. As soon as they got far enough away, the jumped into Warpspeed, fleeing the field with the Empress.


	10. Allegiances

**Chapter 9: Allegiances**

A week had passed since the bloodbath at Bajor. Casualty reports were still coming in, but it would appear that out of eight thousand, one hundred and five vessels that had participated at the battle, only thirty-eight had managed to escape. Out of 2,342,345 men, women and bi-gender's that served in the battle, only eleven-thousand had escaped. Wolf 359 had been disastrous. But in eight hours, the Terran Empire had suffered a blow that all but crippled it's resources. In fact, there hadn't been such a massive loss of life on this scale in the entire history of the Empire from it's very founding, or indeed, any of the races in the Empire.

As Starfleet scrambled to recover from the defeat, matter were made all the worse. Empress Mallor had slipped into a coma, and it was doubtful whether she'd recover or not. The Empire was leaderless and badly smitten. What were they to do?

"The First Imperial Armada has failed in spectacular fashion," Admiral-in-Chief Jellico stated simply, "Picard clearly underestimated the opponents he faced. I tend to not make the same mistake. I want Admiral Paris to take the Second Imperial Armada to Betazed. Admiral Ross will broker a truce with the Cardassain Union immediately, and get his Third Armada to the Badlands."

"The Badlands?" Admiral T'kir said from her holographic seat. She was in Romulan space, coordinating with the Admiral Duras an end to the tensions so they could get the Fifth and Sixth Armadas moved to the borders to keep these new enemies from entering the Imperial territories there, "But the Maquis..."

"The rebels will understand the need to unite," Jellico said, his hand twitching in apprehension, "I am even willing to consider ceding the Badlands if we can get their support."

"That is treason!" Fleet Admiral Donatra snapped from her place at the conference table, "We need to destroy the rebels now!"

"Only the Senate can broker such an agreement," Ferengi Military Advisor Zek said, "You are stepping outside your bounds, Admiral-in-Chief."

"You are blind fools!" Jellico snapped, "We have just suffered the worst defeat of our combined history! And you want to talk politics? In military situations, Advisor, I _am_ the law. We need the whole Alpha and Beta Quadrants bearing down on these invaders! Good Heavens, we don't even know the names of those who just beat our a-es! If we have to cede territory to rebels for support, I will do it."

The Admirals were silent. There was no debating the point. There was simply too much power vested in the hands of this mad man. Jellico nodded and seeing he had thier submissiveness, continued issuing orders.

* * *

Other could see the writings on the wall. And William T. Riker knew when he had his opportunity. He sat in the conference room, the surviving captains of the Bajor Massacre sitting there. It would be too hard.

"Gentlemen," he said simply, "Fellow captains. We were betrayed. The signs were there, but they refused to listen. Picard, rest his soul, did not lose the battle out of cowardice. He lost it because the Empire has become a sesse-pool of unimagination. Incompetance has grown. I admit, I nearly died there when they launched the attack. But, why didn't General Martok raise the shields? Why did he not prepare? Why did they charge into the battle without recon?"

"You make good points," the Captain of the _Melbourne_ replied, his shoulder dejected in defeat, "But what are we to do about it?"

"The Empress lies comatose because of the failure of her commanders to do their jobs," Riker said, feeling the moment drawing near, "I warned them of the invasion, and they didn't take me seriously. There needs to be a change. A dramatic change."

"How?" Captain Mulgrew of the _Santa Maria_ asked.

Riker didn't close his eyes. He could not show any weakness. These people needed to see him strong.

"I plan on taking over," he said.

"The military?" the bald-headed Captain Stuert asked.

"The Empire," he said slowly. If this didn't work out, he'd be dead in seconds. "We need to win this war. But not if the fools in charge remain there. We need a strong leader. The Empire has never been bested. Bloodied, yes, but never defeated. Not without a rising from the ashes. Will you join me?"

"You speak treason!" Commander Todd said from where he sat.

"Is it treason to do what's necessary to save the Empire?" he asked.

"We can't hope to defeat the Imperial Military," the top-heavy Vulcan female captain Bl'alock said, wearing a very tight shirt.

"We don't need to defeat the Military," he assured them, "And I have friends that can pacify the Senate. Please, I can save the Empire. But I need you at my side. All of you. Will you help me?"

The room was silent. All the Captains looked at each other. They simply could not decide on the spot.

"We need time to talk about it," Bl'alock said.

"I'll give you twenty minutes," he nodded slowly, "then I shall be back."

He stood up and walked from the room and headed towards the bridge. A great sense of both relief and greater adding of burden feel upon him. Well, that was it. He was committed. There was no turning back now. And, well, if this was how it was going to be...he needed to do what was necessary for his survival. He turned on his heel and headed towards the turbo-lift.

The door hissed as it opened and allowed him entrance. He stepped inside and turned to face the door.

"Crew Quarters," he ordered, and the door closed.

It was a long walk. It felt almost like an eternity as he walked towards his destination. He stepped up to the door and he pressed the door chime. The door slid open, and he saw Deanna standing at the door. She looked up at him and she barely had time to say anything before he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately and pushed her back inside as he did so.

"What about your Empire?" she asked dazed as he pulled back, moving his hand towards the zipper in front of her uniform.

"The whole galaxy can burn for all I care," he said, "I will have you. If you will have me."

Deanna's smiled was answer enough for him.

* * *

He stepped inside the room, and he looked at the gathered Captains. They looked as if they had reached their decision. Captain Mulgrew stood up and with a nod said, "We are with you, Emperor Riker."


	11. We are the Jem'Hadar

**Chapter 10: We are the Jem'Hadar**

"Admiral Paris," Captain Jill Hatman of the Galaxy-Class _ISS Conquest_ commed into his quarters, "We have a ship approaching."

Admiral Owen Paris slowly opened his eyes. His old body wasn't as springy as it once was, and he was always so tired. Once this invasion was over, he intended on retiring to the lovely water planet of Algae-Brig. There he'd write his memoirs and fish.

"What is the ships registration?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes open.

"It's one of the ships that destroyed the Imperial Ninth Fleet," she reported.

"Then destroy it and be done with it," he said, rolling over in bed.

"They've come to settle with us," she said slowly, "And they want to talk to you."

"Settle huh?" he snorted, "How do you know they want to talk to me?"

"They asked for you by name sir."

Now he was interested. Very interested indeed.

* * *

Admiral Paris stepped into the transporter room, dressed in his finest uniform. This was a first contact situation, and he wanted to show an impression of strength. Picard might have blundered, but he was smarter than that French grown wine grower.

"Ready?" he asked the Captain, her fidgeting figure making her annoying.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she gulped.

"Energize," he ordered and with a twinkling of lights, appearing on the platform were three beings.

Two were something that reminded Paris of dinosaurs. With short spikes growing from their faces and tough skin, they seemed a mixture of human, rhino and dinosaur. They flanked a small woman, who shoulder-length full brown hair and perhaps the most massive and pointed ears he had ever seen.

"I am Kilana," she said, not showing any symbol of respect. "I am Vorta and these two brutes behind me are Jem'Hadar. Members of the military branch you could say. We have been sent from our Gods to talk peace with you and prevent any more disagreeable effusion of blood between the Dominion and the Terran Empire."

"I am Admiral Owen Paris and this is Captain Hatman," Admiral Paris said, "I welcome you onboard the Imperial Starship_ Conquest_."

"I highly doubt you do greet us in friendship," Kilana remarked.

"You're right about that," Hatman grunted. Paris usually would have snapped at her, but this time; he'd let it slide.

* * *

"We do not wish to continue this pointless war," Kilana said, sitting in the chair opposite Paris. Commander Tuvok sat in there as well, using his telepathy to scan for her honesty. "But we will if we have to."

"Why did you attack us in the first place?" Paris asked.

"Your Empire had been sending scouting expeditions into our space," she said, "And that is against our laws."

"We had no idea that there were any races on the other side," he assured her, "And while I myself know nothing about these expeditions, believe me when I say that we had no intent of breaking any laws."

"The prisoners we took have told us the same and we accept what they have said," she inclined her head, "but ignorance is no excuse. So say the Founders."

"That is a most illogical approach," Tuvok remarked, before he could stop himself.

"The only reason we have let the prisoners live _is_ because of their ignorance," the Vorta said, "Look, I am not here to have a sociology discussion. I am here to offer you terms for a negotiated peace."

Paris nodded slowly. He had been around the part a few times and he trusted his instincts. And they told him to be very wary.

"What are the terms you offer?" he asked.

"We will not advance any further into your Empire," she said, "In fact, we will withdraw our forces back to our side. All prisoners will be returned. All captured ships will be returned."

Paris nodded. "And in exchange?" he asked.

"We will keep the crew of the _Defiant_, and Rear Admiral Benjamin Sisko where they will be charged with trespassing our space and the murder of thirty Jem'Hadar sent to ask them to leave our space," she said, "You will not enter Bajoran space because of the wormhole. You will also mothball one in every ten ship from your military. And last but not least, you will hand over your Empress where she will be executed for sending military forces into your space."

Paris' belief went through the roof. The audacity of her! What made her think she should make such outrageous demands?

"You will not see any disarmament on our side and certainly no one will hand the Empress over," Paris replied heatedly, "What do you think we are?"

"If I may," Commander Tuvok said, "Their minds are alien, but I understand several things."

"Go ahead," Paris nodded, noting the Vorta's confusion.

"They didn't truly anticipate our response time," he said, "And while they understood we had a vast military, they didn't realize we had so large of one. They'd hoped they could have defeated us in one swift blow. But they only now realize there are many fleets of large quantities of ships in Starfleet. And they are not sure they will defeat us as easily a second time. Sir, they are just trying to get out of negotiation what they will have to take by war."

"And what's that?" Paris asked, scowling at the Vorta.

"The Empire and everything around it."


	12. The Capitol Letter

**Chapter 11: The Capitol Letter**

Nothing happened in the Empire without them being aware of it. They were the real guardians of the privileges the Empire afforded. They were the ones that had kept the Maquis from consolidating a true fighting force. They were the ones who had silenced any potential threats. Starfleet? What were they beyond the pitiful face that was slapped upon victory. But, what did they care? Their wars were fought in the shadows, sometimes all the more important than the military conflicts.

But, then again, if they were in the open, they would not nearly have the same latitude to do their work. That's how Luther Sloan liked it. He and the _Maquis_ Division of Starfleet worked in synchronicity. Interesting in his mind how the Maquis, that merry band of rebels had decided to take their name from one of Starfleet's most silent and ruthless Special Ops units. But, what did it matter to him. He had Lt. Paris in his pocket, where he should belong.

As soon as the invasion had commenced, Sloan had personally gone to investigate what had happened. What the current situation was. Not that it had been his idea. No, that was the man named H. Nothing else was known of H. Not even his face. No, just a letter. H was the Alpha and Omega of Section 31. He was the power that was.

Sloan strode through the streets of Bajor. For the most part, the Dominion had left the cities of Bajor pretty much intact. Oh, of course, there were now Jem'Hadar and not Imperial troops roaming the streets. But, as long as he didn't make eye contact and keep his head down, none would be the wiser.

He turned down an alleyway, and headed towards the back, near some garbage disposal units. And he noticed the shadow in the corner.

"Silence is Golden," he called out.

"But duct tape is silver."

He merely stared as the _Maquis_ agent stood up and moved near him. Neither getting close enough to the others reach. There were times for trust. But those times were never in favor of those of their line of work.

"The Capital Letter sends greetings to the rest of the sentence," Sloan said, "And he want where the rest of the paragraph leads."

The _Maquis_ agent shrugged. "William gets stuck at the market with money and decides to spend the time with his somber girlfriends."

_Ah, _Sloan smiled smugly, _So talks were proceeding. Very good._

"Girlfriends are good?"

"Very agreeable. William even is getting in bed."

_Admiral Ross had been getting good results with his talks._

"When will William be back from his girlfriends?"

"A few hours. He's sending off to Paris. See if the city can create fiery nights on the bridges. Until he can join the orgy."

_Lt. Paris is being sent to commit sabotage until Ross can conclude negotiations and go back to keep them bottled in for the counterstrike. _

"Does the Capitol Letter need to do anything?"

"Just keep the words flowing onto the page."

_The Section needs to keep up their own activities._

"Any word on the Lost Boys?"

"Enjoying watching a G-rated movie with parents."

_All the prisoners had been sent back to the Gamma Quadrant with strict supervision._

"Any chance they might watch 'The Great Escape'?"

"Not unless they enjoy 'the Terminator' series."

_There was little chance of escaping. Any escape attempt would be met with deadly force._

Sloan nodded and turned on his heel and started walking back towards the alleyway.

"The Capitol Letter needs to keep an eye on the eraser," the agent said, "It's writing over key and important words after erasing them."

Sloan stopped and turned around. So, did these Dominion freaks think they could off replace members of the Imperial Government with what? Clones? Doppelgangers? Section 31 were good at their business. They'd keep an eye on things and prevent bad things from happening.


	13. Strikeforce Riker

Note: This original was supposed to be a part of the last chapter. But, I was too burned out to write it into the chapter then.

**Chapter 12: Strikeforce Riker**

Admiral T'Kir sat on the bridge of the _ISS Kirk's Big One_ and watched as Squadron _Malfoy_ began to prepare for warp-speed. They had a simple mission. Attack the Dominion forces in the Bajoran sector, cause some disruption and then withdraw. Currently she was lobbying the Admiralty to allow her to use the Genesis Device to seal the wormhole and trap the ships on this side and keep the others in the Gamma Quadrant at bay.

But, Admiral-in-Chief Jellico did not think it an appropriate time just yet to use such measures. T'Kir had a lot of weight, with her father, James T. Kirk who had been the Emperor Tiberius. But then Spock had risen to the throne and deposed him. Jellico however had agreed to allow her to commit raids against the Dominion forces.

"They are about to jump to warp," the conn officer reported.

"Very good," T'Kir said, swerving her chair away to look at the officers at the back wall, to ensure they were doing their jobs.

"We've got ships dropping out of warp!" Tactical announced and she swerved back and saw Jem'Hadar attack ships dropping out of warp speed. Within seconds they'd destroyed the raiding squadron and they were pushing into the ships.

"Raise shields and power weapons and order Battle Alert to the entire fleet!" she ordered, "And contact Admiral Duras and have him get the Sixth Imperial Fleet here now!"

The ship shook as the Jem'Hadar hit it several times before the warbird raised its shields. But, they got them raised just in time to prevent serious damage. But, three others were not so lucky.

"Evasive pattern Spock Omega!" she order, "Fire full spread of aft photon torpedoes at any enemy ship that is right behind use."

* * *

Captain Riker lifted the Cardassian sunspot to his lips and drained it, feeling himself more than ready to take on the whole Galaxy. He sat across from the leader of the Maquis rebels, a man named Chakotay. The Native American with his tattoo that covered his face made him look like his people of old, a savage race.

"We have an agreement then?" Riker asked.

"If you become Emperor," Chakotay said, "We will join the Empire as a independent state within it. With full rights and representation."

"That's right," Riker said, placing the cup on the table, "All you need to do is stop attacking Imperial ships. If you get news they are sending ships against us, I want you to disable them. But not destroy. We will need every ship to win this war."

"Understood," Chakotay said, and he slowly stood up. He turned to leave then turning back said, "Imagine that."

"What?" Riker asked, feeling an itch where his eye had once been.

"That a would-be Emperor would be willing to deal in an honest way with rebels," he barred his teeth in a grin.

"Really?' Riker said, "I was under the impression you were used to be treated fairly."

With that Chakotay finished his turn and left, followed by two Klingon bodyguards. The doors to the Recreational Hall hissed open and sighed closed after them. Riker felt the start of a headache and reaching up scratched near the Borg implant. It helped. Barely.

"_Bridge to Captain Riker_," Vale called from the bridge.

"What is it Christine?" he asked, continually scratching.

"_The Dominion has launched an attack against Admiral T'Kir's fleet in the Unroth system_," she said, "_And they are being hard put to it._"

"Set a course for Unroth," he ordered, rising from the chair, "And alert the rest of the fleet. We are going to battle."

* * *

Captain Samwel Jacks bent over the prone form of Admiral T'Kir, feeling for her pulse. But, there wasn't any, all of her life force in the pool of blood underneath. He felt his rage growing. He had really liked T'Kir. Her whit had been good, and even without her family fame, she was a very popular among the crew.

Or, she had been.

"She's dead," he announced to the crew, smoke billowing onto the bridge and consoles sparking all over the debris strewn bridge.

"What are your orders, Captain?" the second officer asked from his post at the conn.

"How many ships do we have left?" he asked.

"Maybe twenty or so," came the reply from the tired replacement tactical officer, that officer dead as well.

"Order the retreat," he sighed, "Get us to meet up with Duras fleet near the Lamba Hydrea. Perhaps Duras will be there."

"Sir," Helm called out, "We've got incoming."

He let out a tired sigh. "Can we fight them?" he asked, knowing the answer was a resounding no.

"Won't have to sir," the officer said with a sense of relief in his voice, "It's Starfleet."

"_Captain Will Riker to Admiral T'Kir_," a voice hailed them through the open comm-system.

"The Admiral is dead," Captain Jacks replied., "I'm Captain Jacks. I'm in command I guess."

"_Would you like some help?"_ Riker asked.

"Any help will be appreciated," Jacks admitted.

"_I'll expect a favor in return_," the Captain stated.

"Isn't there always a price?" Jacks muttered.


	14. Honorable Means

**Chapter 13: Honorable Means**

The prison cell wasn't exactly the worst Worf had been in. There was adequate beds for everyone. They had a small sink that water would be turned on at the same time every day for a minute before being shut back off. It wasn't even _that_ bad of cuisine.

But, a cell was a cell. And the Jem'Hadar guards were still guards. Worf looked at his fellow captives in the cell. Miles O'Brien, Julian Bashir, Admiral Sisko and Captain Dax. He had no idea where Commander Kira had been sent, but he hoped she was alright. It would have been a shame for anything to happen to her. She deserved a warriors death.

"Another day at the zoo," Sisko muttered, "Perhaps we can get out today. How are you doing in there, Miles?"

"If I'm lucky," O'Brien's voice came from behind a wall panel, "We might be out of here in...oh, six weeks."

"Six weeks?" Bashir asked disbelieving, "Why so long, Chief?"

"This isn't exactly Starfleet issue now is it?" he responded crossly, "If you want in here and fix it up, be my guest."

"I'll leave it in your capable hands," the Doctor raised up his hands.

Dax was curled up into a ball. Her mental breakdown was all but permanent according to the genetically engineered doctor. Only way she'd get out of this was her own self. But, Sisko kept holding her and stroking her cheek, hoping that the touch of a human being that loved her would help. Worf had been less than open to the whole idea, but what did he know?

* * *

Kira Neyrs fell to the floor, the kick to the head having stunned her. D-n this arena. What joy did they get out of this? What was to be gained by continually torturing her?

"Come on you old Bajoran woman," the young Jem'Hadar, spitting on the ground by her hand, "Show us what your belief in the Prophets will get you."

She rose weakly to face her opponent, and she swung her arm in a wide swing. The Jem'Hadar ducked underneath and slammed his fist into her ribcage hard, and she felt at least one rib snap. He then leapt up and kicked her to the back of the head and she was unconcious before she hit the ground.

Ikat'ika, Honored Elder in charge of the prison, watched as she was dragged away. The lesson had been learned by the watchful younger Jem'Hadar. This would serve them in their war against the Terrans. But, she was no match. She had only defeated one of the guards and then had continually failed to do more than simply serve as a punching bag. No, there had to be someone more of a challenge. He'd have to think about that.

* * *

There was a rustling at the door, and Bashir hissed into the open panel. O'Brien hurried out and they fitted the panel back on and placed the bed against the wall, pinning it back into place. The door opened and in a step came a Jem'Hadar guard. He looked directly at the Klingon and pointed his finger.

"Come with us," the alien ordered.

"No," Worf said.

"Come with us or we will kill the Trill," he said, and two other guards lowered their rifles and aimed it at the incapacitated Captain.

Slowly Worf rose and followed them out. Despite his ripped uniform, he strode proudly out to face whatever was going to happen. They led him down the hallway, whimpers and cries coming from identical cell blocks. Above he could see nothing but more grey tiling. He continued to walk forward, his head held high, and they lead him into a center chamber, not much larger than the operations center on Deep Space Nine. They pushed him forward to a small ring, small beacons around the circle set on small pillars.

And on the ground, blood on the sand, was Commander Kira. He stepped inside and knealt by his first officer and felt her pulse. It was weak by Bajoran standards, but she wasn't in too much danger. But, the broken nose, puffed and black eyelids, and the bruises that covered her face and arms made his blood boil.

Worf, son of Mogh had never had romantic feelings for Kira. But, he did not appreciate the treatment she had been given.

"So is that it?" he demanded, looking up towards a large and older looking Jem'Hadar, his arms crossed, "Am I here for your sport?"

"You are here," a Vorta said, standing beside the Jem'Hadar, "To give our soldiers here valuable information on how the species of your Empire fight."

"I will not be part of this charade," he growled, "I will let you guess."

"Of course you can leave and not participate," the Vorta said, "But if you do, then your Bajoran friend will be executed. She has served her purpose already."

Three Jem'Hadar lowered their rifles and aimed it at her prone form.

Worf lowered his head and took a deep breath. No, he'd not let Kira die. Not like this. He opened his eyes and stood slowly, and baring his teeth looked at the old Jem'Hadar and growled.

"It is a good day to die!" he uttered the words not spoken by any Klingon in almost eighty years.


	15. Crossing the Rubicon

**Chapter 14: Crossing the Rubicon**

Captain Riker stood on the bridge of his flagship for his fleet. It had grown from humble beginning to nearly a hundred vessels. The Romulan Zone had fallen to the Dominion's advances, and as Duras managed to hold the enemy at bay only through sheer tenacity, the rest of the Imperial Fleet was too busy keeping a focus on what was going on to notice the small force that had been allowed to fester.

He wondered if Julius Ceaser, the founder one could say of the Roman Empire, and by extension the Terran Empire, had felt this way. The Maquis rebels were on his side and would secure his left rear against any Starfleet from that direction. Only two fleets really stood a chance of fighting him, but he had already sown seeds of complacency among the captains of those fleets.

But, to openly take over Earth. Terra Prime. Terra Nova. There would be no turning back now. He could feel the uncertainness of the crew, but he felt the absolute support of his Imzadi on the deck below. She was with child now, and somehow there was a mental link between the two.

However, Ceaser had veterans of successful legions under his command. Many in his fleet were beaten down with defeat. The Dominion had been successful. Too much so. And while Jellico for the most part had set up a good defense, it wouldn't last under the kamikaze attacks of the Jem'Hadar. No, there needed to be a complete change in tactics. But, it could only happen with a complete change at the very top.

The Empress was still in a coma, and he'd not hurt her. No, she must stay alive at all times. And when she came into her own, she would live. As his mistress. Yes, he would have his Captain's Woman Wife and his Empress mistress. That would be a good start.

"Helm," he said, "Plot a course."

"To where?" he asked, although he very well knew where they'd be going.

"Earth."

* * *

Jellico lifted his Romulan ale and drank it, looking at the reports from the front. Duras had been forced back three systems from the Klingon Zone, losing nearly twenty ships per system. Keep this up and he'd be fresh out of troops by the time he reached Qo'noS. And meanwhile the two sides were engaged in hit and run attacks around Bajor. If he could work it out, he'd have two new fleets up and running by the end of the month and this war would be in their favor.

The commchannel beeped and without really looking from the reports he punched the answering button.

"Jellico."

"Hello Admiral," he heard the cocky voice of Captain Riker said, "How are you doing?"

"Riker?" he frowned, looking at the vid-screen. Sure enough, this was Riker. While it was true that many did have Borg implants, few carried the arrogance or ambition as Riker. "What do you want?"

"You to surrender," Riker replied.

"You are funny, Captain," he said, "But I am in no mood for jest."

"Oh, but I am not," Riker replied, "I currently have over a hundred ships surrounding Earth and have weapons trained on each of the major cities. You don't surrender within five minutes, we shall start blowing up each city."

All of a sudden, dozens of calls started flooding in from cities all over the planet. Jellico looked as Tokyo, Berlin, Washington D.C., Quebec, Hong Kong and more were sending distress hails to Starfleet Command.

"You will never get away with this, Captain!" Jellico said, but suddenly, he heard a twinkling and phasers power up behind him. Hand grabbed his chair and spun him around to look in shock at Captain Riker.

"You shall address me henceforth as Emperor Riker."


	16. Let Loose the Hounds of War

**Chapter 15: Let Loose the Hounds of War**

"I want to seal off the wormhole to anymore Dominion reinforcements," Riker said, "And I hear that someone suggested the Genesis Device?"

"Yes," new Admiral-in-Chief Owen Paris said.

"Why wasn't it carried out?" Riker asked from the throne he sat on.

"The Genesis Device is a one of a kind," Paris explained, "We've been building a second one, but it won't be ready for two years."

"Risks have to be taken Admiral," Riker said, "I want you to send a cloaked Perimeter class ship into the wormhole and explode. That should collapse the wormhole entirely. Once we've collapsed the wormhole, I want Admiral Ross to attack from Cardassian space and to drive through the Bajoran sector where they will met with your old command which will also drive in from where they are now. If we can destroy them there, it'll end a bunch of their ability to wage an effective war against us."

"But we have POWs on the other side of the wormhole," Paris reminded him, "Don't we want to save them?"

"Consider them what they are," he said, "Casualties of war. Now go. We shall need to bring this war to a swift end."

* * *

"Orders from Starfleet Command," the conn officer reported.

"Yes?" Captain Janeway said, leaning back into her seat.

Ever since Riker had taken over the Empire, the war against the Dominion had been more aggressive. Her ship wasn't so much a warship as among the newer line of exploration vessels. But, it hadn't stopped _Voyager_ from engaging at least one Jem'Hadar warship in the Azure Nebula. Those ships were fast, she had to give them credit.

"We are at once to report to Archer's Planet," the officer reported, "And from there we shall meet up with the ISS _Yorktown_."

"What reason do they give?" her First Officer asked from his seat beside the captain.

"Nothing else," the officer said, "Just that it was of utmost priority we get there within the next few days."

"How far is Archer's Planet from here?" she asked young Harry Kim at the helm.

"Six days at warp 9," he reported, taking a quick glance.

"Set a course," she said, then leaning over to Lt. Commander Cavit said in a lower voice, "I was getting tired of this Nebula."

"I hear you on that," he nodded.

* * *

"Captain," the helmsman called out from her position, "Approaching Archer's Planet in thirty seconds."

"Very good Bella," Captain Stephanie Meirs of the Excelsior-Class _Twilight_ said, calling her helmsman by name, turning to her pale-skinned first officer Commander Edward Cullens, "I'm ready to get this device off our ship. I don't care if it's all-powerful. The Genesis Device never should have been made."

"I'd think you'd be pleased," her Tactical Officer, a Native American by the name of Jacob said, "Not only do we have the most powerful weapon in the Empire on board, but if this works out, we could perhaps even end up seeing a wormhole planet being created when we explode it."

"Wormhole Planet?" Cullens said, "You have too much time on your hands Mr. Jacob."

"We've arrived at the coordinates," Bella reported, her usually bland expression adding nothing to what Captain Meirs would hope would be a happy bridge. She preferred three things in life. Hairy men. Pale men. And her officers having hard sex. She had even ordered Cullens and Bella to have intercourse at one point, because there wasn't enough sex on the ship for her liking. She was pleased that they would go at it every night, but she wondered why it hadn't changed Bella's mood.

"Take us out of warp," she ordered and the ship slowed to impulse.

The first sign something was wrong with the shattered hull of the _Yorktown_ and it's broken teeth, as the sharp evenly spaced forward section of the hull used for ramming spiraled outwards. Second sign something was wrong was the Jem'Hadar ships swarming towards them. Third sign something was wrong was the destruction of the _Twilight_ before they could react.

* * *

_Voyager_ slipped out of warp and was immediately greeted with the sight of a Starfleet vessel going up in flames. Janeway technically was not a combat officer, and she knew her ship was no match for the dozen Jem'Hadar attack ships gunning for _Voyager_.

"Can you get us out of here?" Janeway asked Ensign Kim.

"Sorry, Captain," he shook his head, "We can't jump to warp for at least three minutes."

"Then we have no choice," Janeway said, "Raise shields and power all phaser banks and the load all photon torpedo launchers."

"Aye Captain," the Tactical officer Kern, son of Mogh, said, his Klingon fingers moving quickly to comply with the orders given.

"Give me full impulse," she ordered Kim.

"Captain?" Cavit asked, "What's your thinking?"

"If we stay put we won't last against them," she explained, "So, I plan to run the gauntlet."

"I hate that N64 game," Cavit shook his head, "Never could get beat the third realm."

"Let's just say this is realm ten," she smiled grimly, "And I'm the Valkyrie."

"There is a cheat code that makes the Valkyrie nude," Cavit said, looking over with a suspicious glance, "Is there one to get you naked or something?"

"I'll show you after we win this fight," she winked, and he was taken aback. She had stated that as an order and not a suggestion.

_Voyager_ speed forward, shooting towards the Jem'Hadar attack ships. In many ways this was a deadly game of chicken, and indeed, one ship was coming straight for them. They flew for each other, Jem'Hadar plasma weapons firing, most of them missing _Voyager_. The few that hit shook the ship.

"Steady on, Ensign!" Janeway ordered as the ships got closer, "Steady. Steady."

Just with a few seconds to spare, the other ship broke, heading above _Voyager_. That was the signal and they rained a spread of photon torpedoes that caused the ship to rupture. Voyager swung around, firing a stream of photon torpedoes at a ship that was trying to swing for their dorsal section. The ship lost one of its engines from a series of consecutive hits and it spiraled out of control and collided with another Jem'Hadar ship that was trying to coming up behind _Voyager_.

The leadership of Janeway in combat situations was to take turns giving combat orders with his First Officer. That way, there was no predictable pattern to their attacks. And it always paid off.

"Bring us around the _Yorktown_'s remains," Cavit ordered, taking his turn for combat orders, then shot us through the broken saucer section. Prepare firing pattern Delta Five."

_Voyager_ did so, Jem'Hadar ships trying to box them in. It plowed through shattered debries, impacts on the shields causing the ship to shake. They came out through it, right past an enemy ship that was trying to swing over the saucer section. The pattern fired, and while most missed the enemy ship, the few that did caused it to start leaking plasma from its nacelles.

"Warp drive is ready!" Kim reported.

"Get us out of here!" Janeway ordered as three ship bore down on _Voyager_ and raked it with a strafing run, "Maximum warp."

_Voyager_'s engines closed a bit and they shot off, but not before a spread of well-placed photon torpedoes took out all three Jem'Hadar ships that had been strafing them.


	17. A Warrior's Honor

**Chapter 16: A Warriors' Honor**

Slowly the two combatants circled each other. On the right side was a middle-grade Jem'Hadar warrior, just entering the Third Circle of Warriorship. On the other side, was a might Klingon. Worf, son of Mogh, had spent a week, every day being forced to fight champion after champion that was sent against him. The first one had been so easy to defeat. He had defeated the Bajoran woman, so he had been cocky. His arrogance had led him to believe that the Klingon would be no harder to defeat than the woman. However, Commander Kira had been much better as a warrior with a weapon and much less of a physical warrior.

It had been some satisfaction that Worf saw the surprise in his opponent's eyes when he had simply picked him and had dropped him hard on his knee, breaking the back and as he then knelt down, grabbed his chin and broke his neck. Then he had been sent away. Every day, the warriors had become increasingly harder and harder to kill. And this one was a skilled warrior, even if he had no honor.

He charged forward and Worf felt more then saw the kick come, and had dodged it, but not enough to miss having the Jem'Hadar's boot come sliding across his cheek, burning it as the hard leather rubbed against his skin. Worf retaliated with a side-swipe blow, the Jem'Hadar ducking, but not far enough to not get bashed across the back of the skull with Worf's clenched fist.

The soldier used his crouched position to ram his horned skull into Worf's side, and he felt the jagged tips penetrate his flesh. At the same time, the soldier drove his fingers underneath the Klingon's rib cage and pulled outwards, and he could feel his ribs beginning to crack. Working fast he raised his arm, and rammed his elbow into the man's neck, and he heard the snap as bones separated and what once had been a proud soldier of the Dominion collapsed, his eyes still open as he collapsed. He lifted his head and bellowed, metaphorically shaking the walls of the room with his roar.

He turned his gaze towards the Honored Elder and glared at him. He had his arms folded, as he always did. He watched every move, every twitch, every motion of fingers and muscles. Studying his opponent as a farmer studies cattle to buy. His eyes darted to two soldiers, and they walked into the ring, their rifles lowered. Worf turned around, and marched out, back straight, head held high.

* * *

The door swung shut to the cell, and he swooned and collapsed on the cot, coughing up blood. Doctor Bashir swooped down upon him, beginning to probe and felt his ribs, which moved in an unnatural fashion. The blood was trickling down his side, and his arm was dislocated. The Jem'Hadar had taken much more force than he had anticipated and he had popped his own shoulder out of joint when he had struck him.

"You can't keep doing this, Worf," Bashir said, dropping the formality of rank, as was his right as a physician, "Two broken ribs, a torn up side, dislocated shoulder. And good heavens, it looks like you were dragged across the floor on your face."

"His foot had a long reach," Worf admitted, "he was a skilled opponent. A shame almost to have to kill such a promising warrior."

"That's the spirit, Captain!" Sisko said, at the moment laying down on the cot, his still mentally-lost lover asleep on another cot, "We need your warrior's pride."

"No!" Bashir said with some frustration, "What we need is for him to rest. He's taken quiet a beating. Each fight leaves him worse for wear each time. I don't think he'll be able to last much longer. In my medical opinion of course."

"Can you?" Sisko asked, "And let's be honest."

Worf felt heat rising in him. He had a temper, but kept it in check. Most of the time. It would not do to let it slip. Not in here. Otherwise, the good Doctor would be hurt. And bad.

"It's getting harder," he admitted, "They keep sending better and more skilled warriors every time they call me out. I think that the Elder is going to be my last opponent."

"For better or worse?" Bashir asked with a roll of the eyes.

"Of course for the better!" O'Brien said optimistically, "You can't kill Worf. He's too ornery."

Worf smiled, barring his teeth. "You do me honor with your confidence, Chief," he said, but letting honesty have a small hearsay said, "Let us hope it is well placed."

* * *

He had only been asleep for perhaps an hour before the door burst open again. Knowing the routine, he opened his eyes and looked at the leering faces of the Jem'Hadar. Yet another bout with them. If only he could kill the Elder. That would be glorious.

Slowly he rose to his feet, masking the pain inside. No, it would not do to let these p'taq see him as a wounded beast. That alone would make these Dominion hyenas attack him. He had seen how pack animals, like wolves hunted animals. They slowly wore them down, and as soon as there was weakness, they would move in for the kill. Well, they were no wolves, and he was most certainly no one's prey.

So, he strode out of there, back straight. Shoulders back. His eyes darting around as he was sent into the Pit, as he was calling it. And his eyes lingered on the Elder. Waiting for him to step in. Today had to be the day. But, no, a young Jem'Hadar stepped in, and Worf had to roll his eyes. Yet another lackey to do the work of his master.

And this one was a tough fight. The young soldier moved fast and furious, and before long, Worf was bleeding from a variety of cuts and he was bruised. After a couple minutes, they were grappling at each other. Then the Jem'Hadar kicked him hard in the stomach and as Worf bent over, the Jem'Hadar backed up a little and the leaping into his chest bowled him over. Worf crashed on the ground, but stiffening his hand and angling the palm shot upwards, connecting with his opponent's chin, and sending him staggering backwards. With a sweep of the legs, the Jem'Hadar lost his balance and fell down. And before he could get up, Worf was up and thrusting his hand around the fallen soldier grabbed and ripped out his windpipe with a rip and as the Jem'Hadar gurgled to death, Worf raised his face, bellowed in victory at the ceiling and threw the ripped windpipe at the ground infront of the Elder.

"He is worthy," Ikat'ika the Elder said, the first word's the Klingon could remember him saying. And with that he stepped into the ring.

"Time to die, Klingon," he said, "But believe me, I hold you in the highest respect."

Worf positioned his hands in a defensive posture and stayed in middle of the ring as the Elder circled him. Ikat'ika slowly circled him, bending slightly as a hunter after his prey. Worf's thigh twinged in pain and he tried to brush it off mentally. But the pain was distraction enough and like a bolt of lightning the Elder attacked. His fist pounded hard into the Klingon's stomach and as he was bending over, his forehead met with the Elder's upcoming fist and as his head was tossed back from the blow, the next movement was a rigged hand into the throat.

He backed up, the blows staggering him. So, he was worthy so far of his position here. Oh well, he would fall. As so many others had. He at once regained his defensive posture and waited for the Honored Elder to attack him. He got closer and closer, and now was the time!

He rushed forward, thrusting one hand forward. Ikat'ika dodged the hand but Worf's other fist came flying down towards him. But he leapt forward and bowled Worf over and as Worf fell he was able to maintain his balance and raising his foot smashed down on Worf's chest, breaking the entire right side of his rib cage with a very strong blow.

Worf coughed up blood, and he knew he wasn't going to defeat the Honored Elder. No, all he could do was die. But die was preferable to laying here and allowing him to win by default. So, he pushed himself up, his ribs seeming to be making music in his chest as he pressed one of the pillars lights, making the light glow red. No, he wasn't done yet.

He kept his defensive posture as Ikat'ika pursued him with even, deliberate steps. Ikat'ika feinted, and Worf didn't let him draw him out. He feinted again and he didn't get drawn in. Third time he attacked, this time coming straight at him. Worf's fist colldied into his chest as both of the Elder's fists came crashing down on both shoulders, dislocating them with a painful pop. He dropped down on the ground as Ikat'ika stomped on his toes, breaking them on both feet. Worf head-butted the Jem'Hadar's hip but he didn't stagger back. Last thing he knew was the sharp crack as his neck was broken.


	18. Guardian Cherubim

**Chapter 17: Guardian Cherubim**

A few still read the ancient words of prophets long since turned to dust. One might think the Terran Empire was completely inhospitable towards religion, but Christianity, Islam, the Romulan spiritual cults, the Klingon worships, they still had many supporters. Even with the changes to the Empire, basically the only religion taught was the Roman-Greco Pantheon. All others was subjected, and even that religion was based upon the subjection and theft of gods and goddesses.

It was nigh impossible to enter the service of the Imperial Family. The Shadow Guard as they were nicknamed throughout the Empire, more formally called the Imperial Silent Royal Guard (a redundant name in many ways to be sure) was a group that was all but invisible. They had phase-shielding, that even with their camouflage suits that blended into the environment almost without flaw, they also were one foot in and one foot out of the phase variance of this universe.

Each guard had to be an accomplished warrior, having killed no less than a hundred enemies in hand to hand combat. They were allowed and even encouraged to have faith, even if it wasn't the Imperial Faith. Devotion to God was akin to devotion to the Crown and the Throne upon which it sat. They needed to be multi-lingual, speaking no less than four languages fluently incase their universal translators malfunctioned. They needed at least twenty years Imperial Service.

One of these men was Bill Riker. Created by a malfunction with a transporter, he was a duplicate of the usurper, William T. Riker. He'd been discovered by Mallor when she was in the Special Forces during a mission to the planet he'd been held. During his time there he'd taken up the Christian faith, and when he had been recruited into the elite Shadow Guard, he liked to think he was like the Cherubim, the meanest of Angels, front-line soldiers in heavenly wars. And he carried his duties out with as much vigor as one could hope for.

Commander Michael Eddington, the current commander of the Imperial Silent Royal Guard walked through a nearby wall, stepping up to Riker. He glanced down at their unconscious Commander-in-Chief as Doctors stepped around the table, and sometimes stepped through the five guards in the room. They might not be able to see them, but the doctors knew they were there.

"How goes the administration of the Doctors?" he asked.

Riker shrugged. "I can't make heads or tails of what exactly they are doing," he admitted, "But, I doubt they'll do anything unbecoming. How is the rest of the Government, sir?"

"Surprisingly they've all been willing to follow your twin without incident," the Commander said, "I can't believe Riker took over the government so quickly."

"He had to have had contacts on the inside," Bill replied, "I bet you he had a whole network of contact in the government. And in the military. And until Empress Mallor awakes, he'll be able to rule by default. He's a man and the Empress had no children. No a consort."

"There's always Lt. Tom Paris of Special Forces," Eddington snorted, "He could work."

But a quick glance between the two evaporated the humor of the joke. What if a man had been in charge of the Empire? What if the old ways were still in place? Would the Dominion have been able to run as amok as they had? Or would the full weight of the Empire not be needed to crush the Dominion?

Such thoughts plagued the Empire at this time. And even in the elite Royal Guard questions were being raised. But, none of that made any difference now. No time for what-ifs.

"Keep an eye on Her Highness," he said, "I am going to check on the negotiations with the Gorn Hegemony."

"Do you think they'll side with us?" Bill asked as Eddington turned to leave.

"I have no idea," he shrugged, "Let us hope so. This war is too costly."

"And what shall we do with Captain Riker?" he asked.

Eddington paused. "Section 31 doesn't want him removed because he's providing a stable head for the Empire," he said but clenched his fist, "But we cannot allow him to keep the throne. There are others as suited to the task. We will strike him, and soon."

* * *

"The negotiations with the Gorn are...slow at best," Ambassador Jaresh-Inyo said from where he stood before the Emperor, "I doubt we'll be able to get anything worked out for at least two weeks."

Riker sat at his desk, looking over various administrative and battle reports. The war was at a critical stage, and as finally the Cardassian War ended, and Ross was able to start shifting his full weight towards the edge of recently returned Cardassian territory, he'd be able to fling his forces at Bajor. Yes, it was a sad fact that the Empire gave back hard won territory, but it wasn't as if there had been much choice in the matter.

The Terran Empire was being held by the juggler. And if it wasn't willing to cast aside it's dainties at time of need, it no longer was a treat but a trap. And he knew how to escape traps. But, it was time to call in every race in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants not currently in the war onto their side. The Breen were remaining as quiet as ever, but he had ideas of how to change that.

"Do what needs to be done," Riker said, "Just don't give away the homeworld. We need every ship and warrior at our side."

"It'll take time," he replied.

"Then I will not keep you," he said, waving him out the door. He knew that the man was a political genius. And if he had his way, Jaresh-Inyo would become his Prime Minister. But, all in good time.

Ever since Operation Genesis was defeated, it had become clear to him that there was something else that needed to be done. He'd been thinking about it a ton. And it was his legitimacy to the throne. Sure, the old laws still applied, whatever he took was his. But, as delightful and loving as Deanna was, she was not royalty. He need an infusion of Royal blood to make his claim hold sway.

He held up a device and set it up on the table. He pushed a small button and it flickered three times. Satisfied that there could be no phase shifting guards in the room without their equipment failing, he pushed a small button. The teleporter activated and a large alien and his second officer appeared.

"I was wondering when we'd be summoned," the leader growled, "I was thinking you had forgot all about us."

"Would you like worthy prey?" he asked.

A broad smile crossed their faces and they thumped their armored chests. The hunt was about to commence and the Hirogen were ready for it.


	19. Hunt, Hunter and Hunted

**Chapter 18: Hunt, Hunter and Hunted**

The power flickered throughout the secret hospital ward in the catacombs under London, where the Empress was currently undergoing treatments. In the main office of the hospital, the medical director rolled her eyes and looked at the flickering power as started to cause her computer to flicker as well. Nancy Polaski pushed the comm button at her desk.

"Doctor Polaski to Mr. Mendar," she said, "Can you please go see why the power is doing this?"

"I've already sent my Beta crew to go check it out," he replied, "Don't worry Doc, you'll be fine."

"I'd like you to stop calling me 'Doc'," she rolled her eyes, "My title is 'Doctor'."

"You're correct Doc."

Polaski wanted to bash her head against the table. How she hated Benzites. Always so ridiculous. And unprofessional. Not at all like Terrans. They knew how to work. Perhaps she should have Terrans come to work.

* * *

The power went completely out in the entrance of the hospital compound and Doctor Polaski stepped out, watching as one by one the lights went out. She suddenly saw the large form of the Security Chief who hurried her back into her office.

"What is it?" she asked, as he tossed his phaser aside and drew the dagger from his side.

"All electronics are going offline," he said, "Stay here, lock the door and don't leave unless I tell you to."

"Are you sure there is something going on?" she asked, but a high pitched scream down the hall was all she needed to know. The security chief rushed out the door slamming it shut behind him, and she curled up under her desk. Every few seconds another scream of pain and dying rang out from the outside hallway.

* * *

"The hospital has been compromised!" Michael Eddington said, stepping through the wall and turning off his Phase cloak so the doctor and nurse could see him, "There's an EMP field coming this way and turning off all electronics. Can we move the Empress?"

"Yes," the doctor nodded, white with fear at seeing a Shadow Guard in real life, "But we need to keep her connected to life support."

"Can a portable generator work?" he asked.

The doctor shook his head. "No," he said, "We need to move the full bed."

"That complicates things a bit," Eddington said, "Is there a back way out of here? To a teleporter or something?"

The man shook his head. "This is the furthest back in the compound," he said, "Unless you can move here down the emergency stairwell, but we'd have to take her off life support for too long."

Eddington nodded. Well, that complicated things a bit. He held up three fingers and motioned them forward. The doctor couldn't see it, but three Shadow Guards had just come down out of the upper floor, landed and moved out of the room through the wall and down the hallway.

_"We're seeing a shape of blackness coming down the halls. Our- losing- Switching-apons to pro-tile mode. Oh-It's-"_

"Stay in the back!" he ordered the doctor, and as the two healers retreated to the back wall, the five guards in the room moved to stand before the bed, "In a few minutes, if they fail out there, we are the only line of defense for the Empress. Do not sacrifice yourselves. We'll need you alive."

As they waited, they could hear gunfire from outside the door. Screams and bellows echoed down the hall. A few seconds passed, but before they knew it, all sounds died out. The lights started to flicker and he waved his fingers together, motioning his troops to stay away from walls or anything that if they lost their phase cloaking would result in loss of limb.

He could smell the stench of the wet sweat as it rolled down the face of the youngest of their number, a man in his mid thirties. He held his fingers out and stiff and pressed together and flicked down, and they switched from energy shots to their backup projectiles. Each member not only carried swords, but they also carried assault rifles. The five of them stood between their Empress and whatever would come through the door.

He held up two fingers in a V and pointed to either side of the door, and he watched Riker and an Italian-born human last name Stafago hurry and position themselves on either side of the door. Another flick of the hands and the two closest to him stepped sideways two steps. Best be give him and his men room to maneuver.

Everything shut off at that moment and everything shut off. Eddington heard the ripples of the cloak as it disengaged and heard all the backups turn off, even the night vision of the visors. Grabbing flares from his side he punched them on and tossed them near the door.

They had barely settled when the door exploded, showering the interior. The bark of gunfire filled the room, all aiming at the door. A guttural roar rose from one of their assailants as he fell but they heard canisters hit the floor.

"Flashbangs!" Eddington shouted and turned away and closed his eyes shut as the whole room lit like a supernova.

He quickly turned as he heard the sickening slick of metal through armor and flesh and the Italian gave a gurgled cry as he died. There was another scream as Energy bolts flew through the room and the youngest man collapsed.

"Swords!" he shouted as he heard they charging into the room.

One of his men, he believed it to be Riker by judging the sound gave a cry and he saw through the red light of the flares as he was stabbed through the gut and pinned to the wall, his sword barely halfway drawn. The only man with him that was still standing was a Klingon and he drew his swords and went at the closest of the massive armored plated opponents. Eddington fired into the face of his closest attacker and he fell, holding his face as blood spurted. Just then a massive bull of a warrior charged in, and shouting something in his language pointed at Eddington.

Eddington fired off the last few rounds and they bounced off his opponents armor. But, with a sword in one hand and rifle in the other, he swept the gun at his opponent, which raised his own sword and it cut the stock in half, sending the butt flying across the room. He swept his sword and the two collided, and his other hand grabbed his other sword and began to draw it. He heard the Klingon roar in pain but he didn't chance to distract himself by looking. That would have been suicide. But not enough to dodge the Klingon's headless body as it was tossed at him from the side.

The two fought furiously, and it was a challenge of champions. Eddington stabbed the enemy through the side and was just about to finish him off when the enemy head-butted him. As he staggered back he slashed wildly to hold him at bay. But the enemy slit his throat with a quick slash of a long dagger that shot from his gauntlet and grabbed by his hand.

As he lay dying he heard as energy began to come back on, "You were worthy prey, Human. But the Hirogen are worthier warriors. My Lord, you can beam in now."

With his last sight he saw the spitting image of his officer beam in with a twinkling of blue light. As William T. Riker stepped over his bleeding body as approached his unconscious Empress, he thought to himself, _Forgive me, Majesty. I have failed._


	20. To the Strong is the Spoils

**Chapter 19: To the Strong is the Spoils**

Admiral William Ross stepped onto the bridge of his Galaxy-Class starship ISS _Rapture._ Time had come for the first stage in defeating the Dominion and ending this great war. Roughly three months it had raged with uncontrollable thirst, devouring everything. Starfleet was already a sixth of its strength depleted, and if they didn't attack soon, projections showed an Imperial defeat in another seven months. An all out assault from Tyre and the Cardassian frontier would allow them to break the back of the Dominion forces.

"Open a channel to the _ISS Conquest_," he ordered and tactical replied an affirmative. He walked to his seat and sat down, feeling the weight of command settling in like a comfortable glove. Yes, his fleet which had seen victory after victory against the Cardassian Union would now be able to sink their teeth into Dominion meat.

"Channel open," tactical reported and he glanced up at the viewscreen as the newly promoted Rear Admiral Jill Hatman.

"Hello Jill," he smirked, "Finally an honor to met you."

"So William," she smiled, "Ready to do this thing?"

"Shall we make a wager?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

"A whole barrel of Romulan ale for whoever makes it to Bajor first," he suggested.

Her smile lit up the screen as she thought of it. "You got a deal," she agreed, "Be ready to give me that drink flyboy."

"Oh, I'll give you a drink," he grunted and with a slash motion the channel closed and the screen cut off.

"Helm," he ordered, the Trill straightening as he was called, "Set in a course for Bajor. Warp Factor 7."

"Plot engaged sir," he reported as his fingers set in the calculations.

"Engage," he said, closing his fist.

* * *

An explosion rent through the city, and Tom Paris looked through the invisible duck blind as the Tower of the Prophets in the main city of the Makara District, Maroka vanished in a fireball of flames as yet another of their explosions rent the sky. But, he felt no joy at the spectacle. His thoughts were turned to his love, lying in a coma. He'd heard no word from Section 31, despite the man code named Sloan having promised to give him information on Mallor's condition.

_Well, at least I haven't gotten bad news_, he mused to himself.

"Hey," Lt. Be'lanna Torres said, slapping him across the arm, "Are you still with us, Lieutenant?"

"How many times have I asked you not to do that?" he snarled, looking at the not uncomely Klingon-Human hybrid.

She shrugged, "At least once a day," she said, "Although I'm still waiting on you to prove you got the balls to put me in my place."

"If we weren't the same rank," he sighed, "I would have."

"The fleet is on its way and the Dominion forces are forming up to stop them," came a report from the Ops center, "Shall we set off the last explosive yet?"

"No," came the command from the head of the mission, "We wait until they are beginning the engagement. Then we set it off. Not before. Understood?"

The acknowledgement wasn't heard by Tom who was again taken away in his mind by the touch of his lover.

* * *

"Entering the Bajoran system in three...two...one..."

"Drop to impulse and immediately attack using Attack Pattern Peter Griffen," Ross ordered. He loved family guy, and he had devised an attack plan based on a scene he'd seen where Peter stuck his daughter head down to his butt and farted. It had worked three time already, and he was hoping it'd work on the Dominion.

The fleet dropped out of Warp and while the heavy cruisers formed two bowed lines with the front facing the enemy, smaller classes such as Perimeters, Korolev Heavy Raiders and attack runabouts shot out from between the two lines, and spread out to hit the center and two spots just above it. Which he affectionately called, "The Mouth" and "Nostrils". Jem'Hadar fighters scarmbaled to swing around and hit the bowed flanks but at that moment, all communications with the main base at Morkeve City were lost.

* * *

"Get the power grid back up!" the Female Changeling demanded, knocking aside pathetic Bajoran collaborators who while they didn't have the backbone to defend their worlds also seemed to not have enough competency to defend their new masters from sabotage.

Weyoun looked nervously at the screen, wistfully wishing he knew what was going on. But, it didn't. And he dared not be near the Founder. She was in a frightful rage. Not that it was good for her, but what knew he of such matters? She was all-wise and in the company of imperfect beings.

"Weyoun!" she snapped, and he hurried over to her.

"Yes, Founder?" he asked.

"Implement the auto-destruction of every city on this planet if the power isn't up in ten minutes," she ordered.

"Forgive me," he asked, bowing his head slightly, "But how? We have no power in the entire city."

"Get outside of the city and detonate it manually," she barked.

"It'll take me ten minutes at least to reach there," he replied.

"Exactly," she rolled her eyes.

He smiled at that. Yes, of course! He bowed to her and hurried off, summoning two Jem'Hadar to follow him out of the control room. There was work to be done.

* * *

Admiral Hatman's forces arrived, spreading out in Attack Pattern Endor. She was a Sci-Fi nut, and had learned of an old battle pattern used by old Starfleet officers in fleet battles. It was also called the "Ackbar Trap" and it required first a wave of small gunboats and smaller vessels running the enemy line and wait a few minutes and then drive the whole fleet to go to point blank range.

The enemy, already heavily engaged trying to flank the slowly advancing forces under Ross, were suddenly being hit from a second fleet. Without coordination, a few Jem'Hadar attack ships turned to fight these newcomers. But there was no coordination, no overall strategy.

Meanwhile, as Hatman pressed her attack, the fleet under Ross did as he called, "Butt-Face Pressing" and just like Meg being shoved into Peter's butt when he farted, the "Butt Cheeks were now shoving the Dominions "Face" into the crack. And already reeling from the gas attack, they now were being pressed and destroyed from all sides, phaser banks and photon torpedoes firing from all directions.

* * *

Weyoun was almost at the city edge when the power came back on all over the place. Lights, doors, everything started working all over the place. Even his limited vision was not that bad that he couldn't see it. He smiled at not having to destroy the planet's populace, but suddenly frowned.

"Blast," he groaned, "That means we walked all this way for nothing."

"Not for nothing!" a voice from a passing Terran said, and he pulled out two phasers and blasted both Jem'Hadar in a single blast and then Weyoun also was phasered. He fell dead without knowing what happened.

* * *

"The enemy has our forces in disarray," the Jem'Hadar First said, pointing at the screen.

"Yes," the Founder said exasperatedly, "I can see that. The battle is lost. They've cut off our retreat to the wormhole."

"We shall fight to the death!" The First proclaimed, pounding his chest with a fist.

"No," she shook her head, "Order our forces to fall back to the Romulan sector. There we shall be able to fight ans perhaps turn this around. Where is Weyoun?"

"Still in the city," a Bajoran shrugged, "But Starfleet personal have been spotted in the streets, and the whole city is being raised up against us."

"Us?" the Founder asked, and with a snap of her finger all the Bajorans were killed in a frenzy of fire from the Jem'Hadar, "We are evacuating. Set the explosive to go off in five minutes. We'll be off the ground in three."

"Yes Founder," He nodded and began the countdown.

* * *

A gun battle was raging in the streets as Jem'Hadar fought Starfleet as the Special Forces and civilian population did battle. Tom Paris felt driven to kill as many Jem'Hadar as possible, as a small repayment for what they did to his love. Most of the city was theirs, but there was no way for them to catch the Changeling, whose shuttle was probably among those that he had witnessed leave the surface and head for space.

"_All units press the attack!_" the orders came over the comm, "_Do not let up. Show no mercy to the Jem'Hadar._"

_Wasn't planning on it_, he thought to himself.

"Nog! Brac!" he shouted to some soldiers across the street, pressed against a crate, "Flank them if you can!"

They nodded and began sliding out, plasma and phasers crisscrossing down the street. He glanced up and spotted two Jem'Hadar also trying to flank his position. He grabbed a grenade and thumbing it on tossed it in where he believed they'd be in a few seconds. The grenade exploded, killing both Jem'Hadar. He felt no joy though, as suddenly the whole city began erupting around him.

Next thing he knew, he was being dragged across the rubble strewn street, building that had once been whole now flaming wrecks. The fighting was still going on, but there were wounded soldiers and civilians all around. Someone was yelling at him and he looked up to see it was Be'lanna. She was also covered in cuts and dirt, but she was as stubborn as ever. But, all he could hear was his own breath and almost nothing else.


	21. The Ever Darkening Present

**Chapter 20: The Ever Darkening Present**

"It's a negative," the Doctor replied, as he was looking at his Imperial Highness William Riker the Great (as he stylized himself), "She is still not pregnant."

Riker bowed his head and rubbed at his eyes. For three weeks he had gone every day to impregnate the Empress Mallor, but she still was not pregnant. She was persistent that one. Well, it would simply mean Riker would have to be _more_ persistent in his attempts. She would offer him seed to the throne. He would not be denied.

"Are you sure she is not in any danger by being kept in a comatose state?" he asked the balding holographic doctor.

"I am a doctor," he said with a sardonic grin, "I deal with facts. Not guess work. She will be fine as long as I help keep her coma very much at work in her system."

He nodded at the news. At least he could keep driving her until she bore him fruits of his labor. But, once she had fulfilled his need for a child, he'd probably execute her. As payment for leading the Empire into this war. Bajor had proved an impressive victory, but he would need to do more.

"Very well Doctor," he said, "I'll be down tomorrow."

"Very good," the Doctor said, "The Doctor out."

The communication channel closed and he leaned back in his seat. There was so much to do and so little time. He looked at the time and saw it was well pat 0300. Time for bed. Slowly he arose and walked the long halls of the Imperial Palace, his guards following him. He arrived at the Royal Suite and opened. Deanna was asleep on the bed. Well, that simply meant he'd get no fun tonight.

* * *

Captain Janeway sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes as he was all but wide awake. It was still another hour before it was time for her to be back out on the bridge, and the sight of Seven, a blanket covering her nakedness, suddenly made her want to get up and stretch. Perhaps go to the holodeck and do some exercise. She threw on a casual set of clothing and headed out into the hallway.

There, standing outside her door, was an ensign. The boy was slightly taller than her. She looked up at him with raised eyebrow.

"May I help you, Ensign?" she asked.

He gulped and shook his head slowly. She frowned and asked, "What are you here for?"

"I just..." he said slowly, "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked.

"Allowing me to take you out into space," he said, "Aunt Kathy."

Next she knew, she was off the ship. And within seconds, she was frozen solid. And the ensign was standing on the hull of _Voyager_, grinning at that. Q would probably be angry, but his son didn't care. Janeway was anything but a good captain.

* * *

They say there is some awareness of the outside world. That one could hear what was going on, and know what was happening. Not Mallor. She remained in a state of almost complete silence. She could feel the touch of others, but beyond perhaps a muffling, she could hear no sounds. Her mind had withdrawn into a simulated reality, one in which Tom had married her and they had moved to their dream world. They had always talked about moving to Risa.

She sat here, on the side of the beech, watching her lover swim. She couldn't swim. Despite being in Special Ops, she never had learned how to. The sun was soft and warming on her bikinied body.

Just as she was sitting there, a shadow fell over her and she opened her eyes. There stood a human in his middle age, full and curly brown hair.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm certainly not the bearer of good news, my dear," he said, kneeling down by her, "Your Empire is in ruins and a usurper sits on your throne. Your lover, not this fantasy you've created but your real one, he lies gravely wounded, a woman sinking her claws into him and he doesn't know it. I can help you, if you wish."

"Help me?" she asked, "I am fine. I'm married and moved to Risa. I don't care about Empire. That was the past."

"No," he shook his head, "This is a delusion, one you've created to escape the entrapment of your mind. Doesn't help that the medical staff has been replaced by a holographic doctor devoted to your usurper. But I can get you out of here, Mallor."

"Who are you?" she asked again.

"I am Q."

To be Continued...


End file.
